My Heart's in a Whirl
by Nynaeve1723
Summary: A series of seemingly unconnected killings rock Boston. Despite the continuing coolness between Jordan and Woody, everyone must work together to put together the pieces of the puzzle. Story begins in April 2006 and continues from there. WJ eventually.
1. Elmer Fudd?

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**Part One: Elmer Fudd?**

_April 20, 2006_

Nigel gazed down. "Well, that's certainly…." His brow creased. "Certainly…."

"Yeah," Jordan nodded, taking a deep breath. "It is."

Nigel clucked. "No more hopping down the Bunny Trail for this young lady."

Jordan threw a glance his way and then knelt to peer more closely at the corpse. She sighed. She tilted her head.

"Rigor? Any obvious sign of cause of death?" Nigel's voice was hopeful.

She looked up at him. "Are you serious? Nige, she's in a giant bunny suit!"

"Which is something you don't see every day."

"Thank God," Jordan muttered.

"Nigel. Jordan." Woody walked toward them with an easy gait that belied his internal discomfort. "Anything you can tell me?"

Jordan stood up. Her face was impassive, her eyes, blank. "Yeah, start looking for a short, bald guy with a grudge against 'wascally wabbits.'"

"Not funny, Jordan," the detective admonished.

She gave him a brittle grin. "Wasn't really trying, Woody." She stood up and turned her attention to Nigel. "Let's get the scene processed so we can get her back to the morgue. I'm not going to be able to tell anything this way."

XXXXX

A knock on her door made Jordan look up. She massaged her temples to tamp down the increasingly bad headache and then acknowledged the sound with a terse "Come in." She smothered a grimace when Woody walked in. She injected a polite, casual tone into her voice. "What can I do for you, Detective?"

Woody reined in his own frown at her use of his title. He bit back the "Particularly bad day, Jordan?" comment that came to mind. If she was in a combative mood, he wasn't up for it and the times when she would have responded to his gentle teasing with ripostes of her own were long behind them. "Wondering if you had anything on the Bowen case?"

The M.E. sighed and rubbed her temples again. "It's in my report – just the preliminaries though. I was about to send it over." She picked it up from her desk and held it out. Woody took it and skimmed it. "Anything else, Detective?"

"Did I do something, Jordan?" He felt like an idiot the minute he said it. Oh, let's see, _Detective_. How about using her trust, flaunting another woman in her face whenever you could and, the biggie, telling her, basically, that by the time she decided you weren't going to break her heart and she let you in, you broke her heart because you didn't like her timing.

To her credit, Jordan shook her head. "Sorry, long day." She gestured to the chair on the other side of her desk. "What do you want to know?"

He sat. "I know the facts are in here, but…." He shrugged. "I wanted to know what you thought."

Her eyebrows rose at that. "Since when?"

"Jordan, come on, you know-"

"Eliza Bowmen, age twenty-three. Healthy, no physical abnormalities, although later in life those implants of hers probably would have caused back problems. She was a little thin."

"She was a model. Or wanted to be," Woody interjected.

Jordan nodded. "That explains her cup size and her jean size. No sign of a struggle – nothing under her finger nails, no ligature marks anywhere, no sexual assault. Based on lack of rigor, beginning of decomp and other factors that probably only interest Nigel or Bug, she'd probably been dead three to five days."

"How'd she die?"

"We're working on that. Based on the bluish tinge of her nail beds and around her lips, as well as some specific internal damage, she was probably poisoned. We're running stomach contents and a tox screen." Jordan picked up a pen and tapped it against her desk "The weirdest thing?"

"The bunny suit?"

Jordan rolled her eyes. "Well, aside from the bunny suit…the other weird thing. Her hair was dyed."

"She was a model, Jordan. How weird is that?"

"Post-mortem?"

Woody's eyes widened. "Oh." He pursed his lips. "Okay, yeah, that is a little odd." He paused. "How can you tell?"

"Well, for one thing, the dye wasn't very high quality – Nigel is working on figuring out brand and color, if possible – and some of it bled onto the inside of the bunny suit. There was also no trace of growth after the color job. And Woody?"

"Yeah?"

"It was an all-over dye job."

He made a moue of distaste. "Some days I really wish there were things I didn't need to know."

"I hear you."

"What do you make of that?"

Jordan shrugged. "You're the cop."

"And that stopped you when?"

She almost told him that in the last eight months or so, it had stopped her plenty of times. Instead, she gave herself a moment to pretend she was considering it. She cleared her throat. "I'd guess the killer wanted her to look like someone else. Though why that extended to a bunny suit is anyone's guess."

"Nothing from the suit itself?"

"So far, no. If there's anything, we'll find it, but it looks like this was one carefully thought out crime, at least from the forensics standpoint."

Woody nodded. "From all angles, I think. The roommate was out of town. No one in the building noticed anything, heard anything, but from what several of the tenants said, both girls were in and out at odd hours, so that wasn't unusual."

"Sounds like Elmer might not have simply hunted his wascally wabbit. He may have stalked her."

"Great," Woody replied dryly. "I'll put out an APB on a two foot tall, bald guy with a speed impediment until you guys can maybe give me something more."

XXXXX

Jordan was re-examining the body of Eliza Bowen while Nigel continued to run a variety of tests. "Oh, wait a minute! Hold on to your headgear, I think I have something!" Nigel exclaimed.

Jordan turned. "What've you got?"

"The stomach contents."

"What about them? It was pretty basic."

"Carrots, Jordan. Carrots!"

"What? Nigel, what are- Oh! A tie in with the bunny suit?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "But more than that! Our bunny girl ate her carrots steamed."

Jordan nodded and gave Nigel a skeptical look. "So?"

"I analyzed the carrots." Nigel grinned. "Traces of Aniline."

"Aniline?"

He nodded slowly, his face wise and stern. "How would Aniline get into carrots? And a trace amount shouldn't have killed her"

"_Steamed_ carrots. Steamed."

Jordan's eyes widened. She nodded, her mouth curving down into a frown – an impressed frown. "Now that is pretty clever." She arched her back, stretching out the kinks. "And it tells us a bit about our killer."

"Like Miss Bowen probably knew him – or her."

"Right. Because you wouldn't be likely to invite in a complete stranger who knocks at your door and offers to cook you a meal."

Nigel chuckled. "Beware cartoon characters bearing gifts?"

She shook her head at him, but grinned anyway. Gallows humor. She turned back to the body. "Let's see if there are any other symptoms of Aniline poisoning."

XXXXX

"Aniline poisoning?" Woody's voice rose as his eyebrows reached for his hairline. "What's that?"

Jordan's face took on that avid, eager look she often wore when hot on the trail of a deviant. If she hadn't been so concerned about getting justice for the victims who passed through her care, it might have disturbed Woody a bit. "Aniline is a substance found in making inks and paints, mostly." She gathered steam. "Printing. Cloth making or dying. Some paints or paint removers. Nigel found traces of it in the stomach contents. I re-examined the body with that in mind and the symptoms are all consistent. Red pinprick spots on the organs, kidney damage as well as damage to the liver and spleen. Methemoglobin."

"Huh?"

"Chocolate colored blood." She shrugged at his grimace of distaste.

"And she ate this?"

Jordan shook her head. "The traces in her stomach were actually in carrots she'd eaten. Steamed carrots."

"Someone – what? – steamed carrots in this stuff, and that was enough to kill her."

Another headshake. "The amount in the carrots might have made her sick, but it was inhaling the vapors that killed her."

"Nice." Woody's lip curled in disgust. "How would this – uh – chef avoid the effects himself?"

"That, Detective, is your job to find out. But now you know a little more."

"I do?"

"Yeah. She had to know her killer. Would you let a stranger in to your house and stand around while they cooked your last supper?"

He shook his head. "Thanks. Hopefully it will help."

It didn't however. The Bunny Trail murder remained unsolved.

END Part One


	2. Call to Action

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**Part Two: Call to Action**

_May 14, 2006_

Garret thrust his head in the doorway of Autopsy One. "Jordan?"

She looked up. "Hey, Garret."

"I know you're just finishing up here, but I've got another body in Trace that BPD is screaming their heads off about."

She sighed. "And I'm the only M.E. around?"

"I was going to take it, but I got a call from Abby. She was in a car accident."

Jordan gasped. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine. Scared more than anything. But, you know-"

"Go. I'll take care of it."

He smiled gratefully. "Thanks." For a moment, he looked down. "The detective is Woody. Sorry."

Jordan set her jaw, her lips pressed into a thin line. Then she waved a hand in Garret's direction. "I'll live."

Fifteen minutes later found Jordan pushing open the door to Trace. Nigel was well into his examination. Woody stood at Nigel's computer, his back to Jordan. "It's about time."

"Sorry," Jordan replied tersely. "I thought the Malvaney family might like it if I sewed up their father before sending him on to the funeral home. Next time we'll just have Lily tell the family we only do that on request."

His shoulder dropped a fraction. He turned, his face set, annoyed. "I thought Dr. Macy was doing the autopsy."

Jordan shrugged. _I don't care what you thought_. "Abby was in a car accident. She's fine, but wanted her father." She gave Woody the most ironic look she good. "So, you got me."

Nigel sighed softly. Listening to them snipe at each other was grating on everyone on the morgue staff. Even Seely had commented on it and Seely's sensitivity level to that sort of issue was almost nonexistent. It wouldn't be so bad if Jordan and Woody hadn't been so close and hadn't come so close to more. It also wouldn't be so bad if it hadn't been so clear to everyone – except the two of them apparently – that they still cared deeply for each other. Taking a deep breath, Nigel stood up, holding aloft a long dark hair. "I think we may have something."

"The victim is dark haired," Woody observed.

"Yeah, but the victim's hair was nowhere near this long. Her mother is blond and her father is nearly bald. This just might be something helpful, Woodrow."

Jordan was studying the girl. "How old is she?"

Nigel began listing the basics for Jordan. "Kristy Douglas, aged twenty-one. Just finishing her junior year at UMass in fashion design. Lived at home with her parents."

"We've still got rigor. She's barely been dead twenty-four hours. Who found her?"

"Patrol," Woody answered, reading from notes, more to avoid eye contact with Jordan than from any real need. "Her parents called her in missing."

"But…?"

"Kristy went out last night to pick up an ice cream cake for dessert. She never got to where she was going. Instead her parents got a phone call from someone using a scrambler asking if he could take their daughter out."

Jordan shivered.

"Kristy's car was found by the side of the road about four miles from her house. No sign of her. The responding patrolman went into the woods nearby and found her."

Jordan leaned over and studied the girl's neck. "Strangled?"

"Looks like," Nigel confirmed. "The ligature is pretty well defined."

Jordan's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, but what would make a mark like that? There's a pattern to it."

"Rope?" Woody suggested unkindly.

Ignoring his tone, Jordan shook her head. "It's – It's not like anything I've ever seen."

Nigel joined her. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Wider in places and this-" He pointed gently. "This almost looks like writing."

Jordan put her hands on her hips, her fingers trailing down. Her nails scratched against her belt. "Oh, hey!" Without regard to the perplexed and concerned looks from Nigel and Woody, Jordan unbuckled the leather and pulled it from the loops. Her eyes lit up with inspiration she held up the belt.

"Ah… interesting," Nigel commented.

Woody drew closer for a better look. He brought his gaze back up to Jordan's face. "You think-"

"I got it at this little place out in Cambridge – local stuff mostly. Look!" She put the belt just above the girl's neck.

Nigel whistled. "That's a pretty close match."

"Where'd you say you got it, Jordan?" Woody was poised to write down her answer, which she gave him. Once upon a time she'd have volunteered to come with him, teasing him some line about the place not being his style or whatever. Now she simply reeled off directions in a dispassionate voice.

Nigel had taken the leather strap for Jordan and was studying it, comparing it with the marks on the girl's neck. "Did you notice, luv, if all the belts were the same?"

Jordan shrugged. "But if they're different…."

"If they're different," Woody continued as he joined them in peering at the ligature. "And you guys could get some detail from those marks-" He looked up. "- I might have a solid lead on who killed her."

Nigel clicked his tongue. "Uh, well, unless of course she was strangled with her own belt."

Woody did not thank him for that suggestion.

Later, while Jordan formulated her report, Woody returned to the morgue. His face was dark with a sense of failure. He stopped at Jordan's partially closed door and then took a chance she wouldn't throw something at him.

She didn't even look up. "I'm working on it, Detective."

"X ray vision these days, Jordan?"

Now she looked up. "What?"

"How'd you know it was me?"

Woody could have sworn she blushed. Her eyes darted away from his. "I can tell – Everyone walks a little differently, opens doors a little differently." Her voice concealed the thudding of her heart and she managed not to mention that hard as she'd tried to unlearn his tread, she hadn't been able to. She wasn't even going in to the fact his aftershave made her stomach do flips still.

He gave her a single nod. "So – uh – when will you be done?"

"I don't know. I'm working on it."

"Can you tell me anything?"

"Aside from what we knew a few hours ago?" Jordan shrugged. "Not a lot. No sign of rape. No obvious signs of drug use, but we need to wait for a full tox to rule everything out. Stomach contents were consistent with what the parents said they'd had for dinner. Organs were healthy and normal. The only thing wrong with Kristy Douglas was that someone choked the life out of her."

"I'd like to find out who."

She shot him a look that made him step back. "So would I. If we get anything, you'll hear about it. I promise."

The case went unsolved.

END Part Two


	3. A Night to Remember

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**Part Three: A Night to Remember**

_June 27, 2006_

"Oh, God," Jordan felt her stomach do back flips; her late dinner threatened to somersault its way out of her body. She hated middle-of-the-night calls anyway – _who liked them?_ – but this was…

"Good Lord," Woody breathed behind her.

"Not really," Jordan said softly. "There's nothing good about this and I'm pretty sure God must have taken the night off." The sidewalk where the girl lay was in a quiet enough neighborhood.

The smell of fresh blood, it's metal tang that drenched the air and crouched on the tongue, pervaded the atmosphere. Jordan had seen her share of horrors and this one was definitely a doozy. She knelt and touched the pool of blood beneath the girl's left arm. The smear on Jordan's glove was tacky. Inhaling slowly, she leaned closer, checking the girl's open, staring eyes. No clouding of the corneas. With another deep breath, Jordan checked lividity. She turned and gazed up at Woody. "Lividity isn't fixed and she's still warm. She's been dead probably less than four hours." Jordan rose. "Who called it in?"

Woody jerked his head to direct her attention to a small man who stood huddled with one of the uniforms. "The guy works a night security shift downtown. He wasn't feeling well tonight, so he got someone to cover him and came home."

Her brows arched. "Bet he wishes he'd stayed at work."

Woody could only nod. "Man, she's young."

"Any idea who she is?" Jordan's voice was despondent. He was right. The girl was young – sixteen, maybe seventeen. The make-up coating her face was a misguided attempt to look older, but the satin prom dress she wore – now dyed red with blood – made her look all the more like a girl playing dress-up.

"No, she didn't have any i.d. on her and the guy who found her said she doesn't look familiar."

Jordan felt her eyes prickle with tears. "Maybe she was visiting a friend."

It was two days before they found out who she was.

XXXXX

Jordan was staring at the autopsy photos of the young Jane Doe. Cleaned of the blood, her wounds stitched up and her eyes closed, she looked like a worn-out child whose had a very bad day. Jordan hadn't been able to find anything for Woody to go on. No assault, no prints, no fibers, no scrapings from her nails. Nothing. They'd come up blank on prints for missing persons; dental x-rays hadn't panned out and no one had reported a girl matching her description over the weekend. It was going to be a long week.

As if to emphasize her despair, her phone rang, making her jump. "Cavanaugh."

"I think we may have i.d.'d Jane Doe." _Good morning to you too, Detective_ Jordan thought, but kept it to herself. "You there?"

She cleared her throat. "Yeah. I'm here. What did you find out?"

"I'm bringing down Michelle Dreyfus. She came in this morning to report her seventeen-year-old daughter, Ashlynn, missing."

"How long has the girl been gone?"

"Well, that's the problem. Ashlynn said she was staying with a friend for the weekend."

Jordan began nodding. "And Ashlynn told the friend she was staying at home?"

"Close," he confirmed. "Ashlynn got a call on her cell phone while watching movies with the friend. Ashlynn got all excited and said she had to leave. She had just been offered a photo shoot."

Now Jordan's brow furrowed down. "On a Friday night? Just like that?"

Woody said, "Uh-huh. Torie, Ashlynn's friend, didn't buy it either and they argued. Ashlynn stormed out the front door, refusing a ride because her 'agent' was picking her up and saying she'd just go home afterwards."

The M.E. sighed. "So no one knew she was gone?"

"Nope. But guess where Torie lives."

"The street where we found Jane Doe?"

"Three streets over." He paused. "Is the – the body ready for viewing?"

"Yeah. You can bring Ms. Dreyfus over any time."

XXXXX

The woman accompanying Woody couldn't be much older than Jordan, though she was fighting looking even thirty. The fight was not going her way. It might if the woman didn't reek of cigarette smoke and a little something else, Jordan would have gambled. Her hair was a blond color that had come out of a bottle – a rather inexpensive one at that. Her face had the telltale signs of incipient alcoholism and she wore a man's button down shirt over her very short pink mini-skirt.

Lily accompanied Woody and the woman into the viewing area. She met Jordan's glance with one of her own. It said _Don't judge_. Jordan just gave an inward shudder; her own life could easily have gone this way, she supposed. As gently as she could, she greeted the woman and explained in general terms what Ms. Dreyfus would see.

The woman nodded her blond hair falling into her face. She shoved it back with impatience. As they revealed the Jane Doe's body to her, she gasped. "No! That's not…." She leaned closer to the glass. "Ashlynn's a redhead."

Jordan nodded slowly. "This girl – her hair _was_ dyed."

"No, I mean, when Ashlynn left the house that day, she was a redhead!" The woman looked at Jordan. "Can I get closer? Ashlynn has this little scar –"

"On her left knee?" Jordan finished.

The woman nodded. "She ran into a fence when she was six and learning how to ride a two-wheeler." The fact that Jordan had known began to sink in. "Oh, my God. Oh, no! No!"

"Ms. Dreyfus, I'm sorry to ask, but do we need to know – is that your daughter?" Woody was as gentle as he could be.

The woman gave them all the look a drowning victim might to the lifeguards on the beach who can't get there in time. _Why can't you save me?_ She looked even more closely and finally, tearfully, nodded. "Yeah. Yes. That's Ashlynn."

Before allowing Lily to lead the woman away, Woody insisted on asking a few probing questions. The answers were confusing. Yes, Ashlynn _wanted_ to be a model. No, she hadn't said anything about having a modeling agent. No, no one in their family had the kind of dress they'd found Ashlynn wearing.

Just before Lily led her away, the mother turned to Jordan. "How did she die?"

Jordan swallowed. "She was – She was stabbed."

"Anything else?"

Wearily, Jordan answered, again trying to be general, to spare the woman the horrific details of a child not who'd not only been stabbed repeatedly, but had had her throat slit and her body cut open in a grotesque mockery of the coroner's Y incision.

"Was she – Did whoever did this -…?"

Jordan's heart wrenched. She shook her head. "Ashlynn wasn't raped, Ms. Dreyfus."

The woman's obvious gratitude at such a small mercy made Jordan turn away to hide the tears threatening to roll down her cheeks.

She heard Lily guide the woman out. Jordan raised a hand to her face and murmured, "Sometimes I really _hate_ this job."

Woody crossed the space between them and put his arms around her. She turned in his embrace, resting her head on his chest. He stroked her hair. "I know," he said softly. "I hate it, too."

"What kind of world is it where a parent is _glad_ her daughter wasn't raped? How sick are people that _not_ raping a teenager is a relief because then she was 'only' stabbed and gutted?" She thumped her fist on his chest in frustration.

"We'll get him, Jo. We will. We'll get this one."

"Will we? Really, Woody? Because this is three young women now in three months and we haven't been able to find any of their killers." She looked up, her eyes burning with fury. As she came back to herself, she also realized where she was and stepped back. Woody's arms around her felt too good, too much like how it used to be, way too much like what she – _damn her­ – _still wanted them to. A year later and she still wanted the bastard. She let her anger at him and at the killing meld.

His fingers clenched. He hadn't wanted to let her go. She felt so entirely right where she'd been. He wanted to say something, to utter the words that weren't enough, but might at least be a start, and then he saw the look in her eyes. "It's been a run of bad luck. That's all."

Her breath stopped in her throat. "What if it's not a run of bad luck?"

"What?"

She was hurrying out of the room, running down the hall to her office. She dug out the files and began scanning them as Woody, having followed her at a more dignified pace, gaped at her. She looked up. "We don't have three separate killers, Detective. We have a serial killer."

"What? Jordan? Where do you get that? The m.o. on each crime is different. The victims all come from different backgrounds. I could go on."

"Woody, think about it." She held a finger to signify her first point. "No sexual assault. Three young women killed – brutally – but not one of them assaulted sexually." She held up two fingers. "They may have different backgrounds, but they all had one thing in common – fashion of some sort."

"How do you figure?"

"Eliza Bowen – the girl in the bunny suit – was an aspiring model; Kristy Douglas was getting a degree in fashion design – check with her parents – I bet she may have modeled or at least known some models; and now Ashlynn Dreyfus, who wanted to be a model and told her friend, Torie, she'd just been picked for a photo shoot."

Woody gave some consideration to her theory.

"And," Jordan held up three fingers. "They all had dark hair. Eliza's and Ashlynn's was dyed. And, like Eliza, Ashlynn's was an all over job. We didn't check if it was post mortem or not, but I'll have Nige do that."

"What about the different m.o.'s, Jordan?" Woody challenged.

Jordan let a small, satisfied smile play on her face. "Figure those out and we might be able to figure out who the killer is."

END Part Three


	4. Firecracker

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made.

It's all for fun.

**A/N: Thanks for the great feedback thus far. This story is one I've kicked around for over two years (not with CJ characters) so it's fun to write it finally and see where it goes exactly.**

**Part Four: Firecracker**

_July 4, 2006_

Despite a couple of invitations to barbecues and the like, Jordan was spending the evening of the Fourth of July at home. She was exhausted. Besides keeping up with whatever new cases came in, she and Nigel had been going back over autopsy findings, re-running samples, anything and everything they could think of to try to establish some connection between the three apparently unrelated homicides.

She had just sat down to watch the televised fireworks, a cold beer in hand, when there was a knock on her door. She muted the television and then, groaning, heaved herself up and, barefoot, padded to the door. She peered through the peephole. Surprise rocked her backward for a moment. She took another look. With a wondering shake of her head, she opened the door.

Woody's smile was nervous. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, no, it's – um – it's fine." Jordan ran a hand through her hair, tugging at a tangle here and there. "I'm just a little – surprised. Uh – Come on in."

Woody looked around. She hadn't changed anything that he could see, but he made a careful inventory anyway. He found he couldn't look at _her_. She was dressed for bed. Little shorts and a light tank top to fight off the heat of a Boston summer night didn't leave much to his imagination. And his imagination really hadn't needed much help anyway. Not in the last week. The memory of holding her, no matter how short a time it had been, had stayed with him.

"Beer?"

Woody held up the paper bag he held in his left hand. "I wasn't sure - I mean, you know… I just show up and…."

Jordan nodded. "Then would you like me to put those in the fridge for you?"

Woody knew he was acting like a high schooler, not looking at her, stammering out meaningless babble, blushing now as she appraised him, her honey-brown eyes weighed down by exhaustion and confusion. He gave himself a mental shake and handed her the six-pack, grabbing one bottle for himself. "Thanks."

He stood uncomfortably, waiting for her to return. In the kitchen, Jordan thrust the bottles into the refrigerator and then laid her head against the door. _He's here to talk about a case_ her mind insisted. Her libido demanded to know why he was wearing old, comfortable denim shorts and a tight BPD blue t-shirt if he was just here to talk about a case. Jordan told her libido to shut up. It listened about as well as it had since the day in the viewing room when she'd found herself sobbing on his chest. She cursed under her breath.

She found Woody perched on the edge of the couch when she returned. He looked as comfortable as she felt. She forced herself to settle on the other end of the sofa and relax. After a long pull at the beer bottle she'd briefly abandoned, she spoke. "So, you've got something new about the homicides?"

He gave her a sideways look. "Uh – no."

"Oh."

"I know – I mean, I heard you'd been working a lot. I just thought I'd stop by and check- uh – stop by and thank you."

Jordan's mouth twitched and her eyebrows rose. "You're welcome." She took another sip of her beer, relaxing into his discomfort just a little bit. "So far we haven't been able to find anything new."

"Maybe there's nothing to find."

Jordan's eyes narrowed in alarm. "I thought you agreed there's a connection."

"No, it's not that." He met her straightforward gaze with his. Maybe if they talked about work he wouldn't babble. "I think you're right. I just mean the killer is obviously careful – really carefully."

She gave a slight headshake. "No one, Woody, is that careful. We're going to find something."

They both jumped when her phone rang. Jordan glanced at the device as though it had suddenly been possessed. She couldn't imagine who was calling. She murmured a quick apology and answered the call.

Woody watched her as the tension in her body uncoiled a bit. Her shoulders relaxed; she slid her feet to the middle of the couch. He listened to the tone of her voice drop. She spoke quietly and there as a – a purr in her speech. She smiled, the expression slowly curving up her lips and into her eyes.

"Uh," she was saying, "I don't know about that, actually. There's this case – it's – it's really big. Probably." She paused. "I know, I know." Her smile widened. "Okay, okay. Yeah. 'Bye." She hung up the phone and apologized again. "Friend," was all she said.

Woody's eyebrows arched up. "Yeah?" His voice was edged with disbelief and irritation.

_Yep, I'm kind of enjoying this_ Jordan told herself. She nodded. "So, how's Lu?"

Woody coughed at the unexpected query. "Uh – she's – she's… not around."

Jordan nodded, her honey eyes assessing him. "Vacation?" Her tone was light and innocent. _As if I really couldn't care less._

"Er – no. She's – She moved."

"Oh?" Jordan took another sip of beer. "Where?"

"New York."

She smiled. "Well, that's not far at all."

Woody gripped his beer more tightly, finally hearing the teasing note in her voice. _No_, he told himself. _Mocking_. _Teasing was what we used to do. Mocking and sniping is our style now._ He forced his voice to stay level. "It wasn't working."

Her eyebrows rose. "That's too bad."

He turned the tables. "What about that reporter – Pollack?"

She shrugged. "J.D.? It didn't last."

"Someone new, Jordan?" He sneered slightly as he continued. "Or some_ones_?"

She hesitated, her palm itching to slap the expression off his face, while her mind told her to remain calm, not to rise to the bait. "Why are you here again?"

He muttered, "To thank you."

"Well," she said, her voice brisk now. "You said it, I told you that you were welcome, so if we're done…?"

"Want to call your _friend_ back?"

Color spread across her cheeks in an angry flush. "Actually, yeah. It turns out I'd really rather talk with Danny than you."

That took a heartbeat to sink in. "Danny? As in McCoy? As in Las Vegas?"

"You got it, Detective. Good sleuthing."

He winced. "Come on, Jordan. Him? Why?"

"Oh, I don't know," her eyes flashed. "He doesn't ignore me unless he needs something. He's never told me I wasn't welcome in his life." She delivered what, in her anger, she hoped was a killing blow. "The sex is awesome."

It worked – Woody blanched. He stood up, his movements gangly and stiff. If she hadn't known better, Jordan would've sworn he'd just been kicked in the balls. Of course, if anyone was going to kick Woody Hoyt in the nuts, it had better be her. She was first in line as far as she was concerned. "I see. I think you're right – I should… what?" He followed the direction of her gaze.

Her eyes were fixed on the muted TV screen. She breathed out, the rhythm choppy, shocked.

Woody looked away for a moment, unable to bear the live video footage. The new anchor's voice sprang to life as Jordan turned the volume back despite the nerveless feeling in her fingers. "-say that the woman seemed to appear among them, a human torch…." Jordan muted it again.

Her phone rang. "Cavanaugh." She nodded. "On my way." She hung up and looked at Woody. "Garret wants me down there."

His phone rang. He answered it as Jordan raced to her room to change.

END Part Four


	5. Double Up

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**Part Five: Double Up**

_July 4, 2006_

Nigel raised an eyebrow when Woody and Jordan arrived together. As Jordan approached him, he murmured, "Interrupt something?"

She glanced up at him, her jaw tight. "The usual argument."

"At least you were speaking," Nigel comforted.

She ignored him. "How'd you get here so fast?"

"I was at the concert – two blocks away." He led Jordan to the body.

She gasped. "Damn. Every time I think – check that, hope – I've seen it all."

"I know exactly what you mean, luv."

The victim had been a woman, age impossible to determine at this point. Whatever hair she'd had was charred away. That scent, mingled with the stomach-churning odor of burned flesh and rubber – the soles on her tennis shoes, Jordan guessed – created a stench that had the singular benefit of keeping curious on-lookers at a distance. Jordan sniffed lightly, unable to do more than that. "Nige?"

He looked up. "You, too, huh?"

She nodded.

Woody, having checked in with the uniforms and spoken briefly with one of the few coherent witnesses, came over to them. "Anything?"

"Murder." Jordan was her usual blunt self.

His eyes widened. "How do you figure?"

"Accelerant."

Woody sniffed the air, his mouth crumpling when he caught the sharp odor as well. "God, another one?"

"Could be," Nigel replied. "Could be unrelated."

"Is it wrong to hope it's related?" Woody asked.

"One psycho with diverse m.o.'s versus a couple of different psychos?" Jordan asked.

"Can you blame me?"

She shook her head.

Woody was about to ask another question when one of the uniforms approached him. "Detective Hoyt? I have – um – this woman – she's pretty sure the victim is her sister."

With a glance at Nigel and Jordan, Woody followed the officer. The two M.E.'s shifted into "forensic" mode.

XXXXX

Jordan rubbed her eyes and pushed hair back from her forehead. She refused to look at the clock. She'd been here God-only-knew how long now. Woody had made the i.d. – Cassie Martin. The sister was with Lily and Woody was questioning her, gently, Jordan assumed.

Nigel shook his head. "About all that's left are her shoes – and there's hardly much left of those. How she ran as far as she did…."

Jordan nodded.

Woody tapped on the door and then entered. "Anything?"

Nigel and Jordan both shook their heads. Nigel sighed. "The sister have anything to say?"

Woody shrugged. "Not much. She's pretty distraught."

"Well," Nigel began. "Her sister and all."

"Her _twin_," Woody amended.

Jordan's eyes went round. "Twin?"

The detective nodded. "So?"

"Identical? Or fraternal?"

"Uh – identical." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Jordan, I know what you're thinking. Young woman, dark haired, grisly killing… but our victim had _nothing_ – I mean _nothing_ in common with the other girls. She just passed her C.P.A. exam, was engaged – all the other girls were single – hated going out, you name it."

"What does the sister do?" Jordan demanded.

"Huh? What does that….?" He stopped and exhaled slowly. "Oh, my God. She's a model."

Nigel let his gaze travel from Jordan to Woody and back again. "Our killer got the wrong victim?"

Mutely, turning to gaze at the charred remains on the table, Jordan nodded.

Woody sagged against the door jamb. "How am I going to tell her that?"

Better question," Jordan said. "How are you going to tell her she's your only lead?"

END Part Five


	6. That's Nuts

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**Part Six: That's Nuts**

_July 6, 2006_

Jordan stood in front of the board. She'd put up the names of the four victims and now solicited what they knew from everyone else in the room. Nigel had her add the hair color, with a star next to the ones who'd had their hair dyed brown. Bug added they were all models, or aspiring to be. Jordan added a star next to Cassie Martin, the identical twin. Lily rattled off the names of each girl's agent – except for Ashlynn Dreyfus' because no one knew that. M.O., time between death and discovery of the corpse, everything they could think of went on the board.

"So," Jordan said at last. "We have a killer who's been killing one girl a month. Starting in April-"

"What if he didn't start in April?" It was Garret's first contribution. It drew stares from everyone.

XXXXX

Jordan sipped at the coffee that she already knew she'd need. She heard a voice calling, "Hold the elevator!" She watched the doors slide shut instead. Then, she decided to be mature – she reached out and hit the _open door_ button, and the doors slid obligingly wide. Woody caught sight of her and, for a moment, his step faltered. Jordan stepped to one side. He took the invitation for what it was.

Neither of them made eye contact. "So – uh – you're still here?" Woody rocked on his heels a little.

Jordan nodded, her lips pursed. "Sharp observation. I am, indeed, still here."

"Why?" His tone was more brusque than he intended, his voice hoarse.

"I work here?" Jordan wasn't in the mood to banter. Not with Woody. Part of her kept thinking back to the argument that had almost exploded between them a couple of nights ago – that part just wanted him to go away. She was beyond tired of the dance they couldn't seem to stop doing. It used to have the benefit of a pleasant, easy, teasing intimacy. Now it just had tension. She couldn't face that tension tonight. The other part of her wasn't up to it because of what Nigel had said when he'd winkled out the subject of that argument.

"Jordan! You haven't seen Danny McCoy in months!" He'd protested.

She'd grinned. "Yeah. I know that. You know that. But-"

"Woodrow doesn't know that." Nigel had given her a sidelong glance. "And you'd rather he thought something was going on with Danny."

"No! I – I – Why would I want that?" She blushed as she recalled what she'd said to Woody about Danny and sex.

"Oh, I don't know. Because Danny McCoy is someone who makes Woody jealous?"

Jordan had shooed him away with one hand, but deep down she knew he had a point. And that was the other reason she didn't want to see Woody at the moment. She'd finally sorted out her feelings for him and accepted that the opportunity she'd had had been lost the day of the shooting. She'd come to accept it, to accept the coolness that enveloped them both and she'd begun to move on. She hadn't faked Danny's phone call, after all. She hadn't faked Danny's invite to Las Vegas for the upcoming weekend. She sighed inwardly. She hadn't faked the need to stay in Boston either.

The doors opened on Jordan's floor, and Woody followed her out of the elevator car. Seeing the look on his face, Jordan apologized for her own sarcasm. "It's been a long day."

"And you're not leaving any time soon?" He pointed to the coffee.

She shook her head.

"Can I ask why not or is it because you work here?"

She allowed herself a smile. "Well, I do work here, but Garret said something today."

"Something about…?"

She glanced over at him. "Something about this case – the murders of those models." She unlocked her office door, but leaned against the door frame for a moment. "It got me thinking."

Woody gazed down at her for a moment, feeling a current run between them, a current that felt so familiar, so right, so much a part of who he was. He had to clear his throat before he could speak. "What did he say?"

Jordan wheeled around into her office. She pushed her hair behind her ears. "We've been going on the assumption the killings started in April." Woody nodded. "Garret suggested maybe they didn't start then."

The detective whistled. "Interesting thought."

"Yeah." She sighed.

"So, you're going over old cases?"

She nodded, rubbing her eyes. "Nigel and I were working on it, but he had plans and I told him-"

"Plans?"

Jordan nodded.

"Hmm."

"What?" Her voice betrayed her exhaustion and a measure of suspicion, well-founded it turned out.

Woody shrugged. "Because Nigel called me about half an hour ago and told me you guys had something."

The M.E. rolled her eyes and then couldn't help the grin tickling up the corners of her mouth.

Woody noticed it. He took a step closer to Jordan, trying to stay casual, but wanting to touch her, hold her, be close enough to her to inhale the scent of her shampoo as it mingled with her perfume and her skin. "I think Nigel got me here on false pretenses."

She shook her head, turned her gaze to the carpet and sighed. When she looked up, she was watching him from beneath her lashes. "Yeah, Nigel – uh – um…."

"Yeah," Woody's voice was soft. At his side, his hand twitched, his fingertips remembering how soft her cheek was. She took several steps backward. He bit back the groan of frustration that rose in his chest.

"I – I need to get back to these files."

He nodded. "You want some help?"

"You want to encourage Nigel?"

_Yeah, Jordan. Yeah, I do. I really, really do. I want to lock this door behind me, wrap my arms around you and kiss you until neither of us can breathe. I want to make you forget Danny McCoy ever existed. I want…._ "If it might get me a lead, I'll take my chances."

She regarded him for a moment. Her eyes sparked with an ember of the old flame as she nodded, swallowing, trying to dredge up spit for a mouth gone suddenly dry. She gave herself a mental –and emotional- shake and moved briskly around her desk. "We hadn't gotten very far." She gestured to a stack of files.

"Those are…?"

"March," she told him bleakly.

He seated himself across from her and drew a pile of records toward him. "Any idea what I'm looking for?"

She shrugged. "Anything unsolved or that we ruled accidental, but seems odd."

"That helps?"

"Not much," she admitted. "But it helps with domestics and drug and gang type cases."

They each read silently, the time ticking away. Jordan took the occasional sip of her coffee, despite its rapid cooling. Woody grimaced on occasion and made a comment or two about the tremendous number of ways people found to die. He had read at least a dozen cases, when he sat up.

Jordan immediately broke off her own reading.

He looked at her and then down at the case file again. "Check this out." He glanced up to make sure he had her attention. "A woman is found dead the morning of her wedding day."

"I said odd, not tragic-"

"No, no! She choked to death – on those – uh – those Jordan almond things. You know, the ones-"

"I know. Okay, so she has really bad taste in snack food."

Woody's eyes darkened. "Why was she eating them before the wedding? Before the reception?"

"She decided not to torment her guests by handing them out?"

"And why was she eating them if she was allergic to nuts?"

Jordan's jaw dropped.

END Part Six


	7. Not Quite

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**Part Seven: Not Quite**

_July 6-7, 2006_

Woody thrust the file at her. She read it hurriedly and then pushed her chair back. She grabbed a pen for the board and strode over to it. The day's earlier information had been erased and re-written so that anything they found out about earlier months could be added. Now she was poised to do just that.

Woody joined her. "Okay, name – Maddie Larkin."

Jordan scribbled it up and added that Maddie had been a brunette. "Natural or dyed?"

"Huh?"

"Her hair color – does the report indicate if it was natural or dyed?"

His eyes scanned the file. "Um – natural. And – oh, yeah – she was a model. She was represented by…." It took him a moment to find the name.

Her face fell as she wrote it up. "Not the same as any of the others. Damn."

"Photographers!"

Her eyes lit up as his did. "Of course!"

"I'll check them out tomorrow." He flipped through the report again. "Okay, what else?"

"Time of death versus when she was found," Jordan commanded.

He licked his lips as he read. "Okay, here. She was found about seven in the morning. She'd stayed up with her maid-of-honor until – um – about eleven. _But_ the maid-of-honor left then and this girl lived alone so…." He continued reading. "Bug estimated she died between midnight and four a.m."

"I wonder if she had any neighbors that noticed anything," Jordan murmured, her mind racing through the possibilities.

"You can bet I'll be checking on that tomorrow, too." He grinned at her. "Jordan, this is great. This could really help."

"Yeah," she replied, still distracted. "It would probably help more if we understood the pattern."

Woody glanced over at the files on her desk and the floor. "I'm game if you are."

She swiped the back of one hand across her forehead. "Yeah. Sure." She swayed slightly.

"Hey, hey! Jordan!"

Her eyes were owlish. "What?"

"You okay?" Her mild nod didn't convince him. "When was the last time you ate?" This time she gazed at him blankly. "Why am I not surprised?"

"I'm fine," she told him. Her stomach betrayed her by growling.

"Yeah, of course, you are." Woody put the palm of his hand in the small of her back and gently guided her back to her desk. He pulled out his cell. "Pizza? Chinese? Sandwiches?"

"Huh?"

"Food, Jordan. Food. What do you want?"

Her back tingled from his touch. Her mind seemed to have careened right off the track. "You," she managed. His look was almost worth the flush creeping up her face. Almost. "Uh – You decide. Whatever."

Not daring to speak, he nodded.

"Uh – not Chinese."

He cocked his head, wondering. Did it still rankle her? His Sunday night late dinners with Devan. He decided not to test his luck. "Sure. Okay." Instead, as he gazed out the window behind her desk, he called a deli around the corner that would deliver.

When he hung up, Jordan apologized. "I was going to go home-"

"No, you weren't," he corrected, turning giving her a gentle smile. "You were going to get some of those stale cracker and fake-cheese things from the vending machine, a candy bar or two and keep at this."

She grinned. "Was it that obvious?"

"No. I just know – knew you."

Her cell phone rang. She turned away, glanced down at the number and let it go to voice mail.

"Not important?" His tone was so light and casual, but Jordan could hear every note of artificiality in it.

"It can wait." She rolled her shoulders. Woody grimaced at the sound of the popping. He moved softly, catlike, and laid his hands on either side of her neck. His fingers squeezed gently, kneading into her tense, knotted muscles. He moved his hands down gently, pressing against the larger muscles. She grunted softly as her body relaxed. Exhaustion, hunger and the easing of tension lulled her into the candle flame of a comfort long encased in ice, but not extinguished.

His hands roved up again. He wrapped one around her hair and lifted it over her right d. With his other hand, he massaged her neck gently and then moved both hands along toward her face. With gentle but insistent pressure, his fingertips worked at the hinge of her jaw. He felt the tiny muscles there relaxing. She murmured his name.

Woody took deep breaths, willing himself not to rush this along. In his mind, he knew this was the first step back to what-might-be, but his heart ached to leap in. What his body wanted was both simple and complex. He opened his mouth to utter the apology he'd long owed her, when his phone rang. Beneath his hands, she stiffened as she returned to the reality. He cursed silently and answered the phone. "Yeah, be right down." He flipped shut the phone. "That's the deli. I'll go get the food."

Jordan nodded at him, unable to speak, glad for the reprieve from her now roiling emotions – and hormones. _Take it for what it is_ she kept telling herself. _It's a case. Just a case. Nothing more._ The now absent ache from her shoulders testified it wasn't just a case, as did the warmth that had spread from his touch into her entire body. The argument of two nights before, including her juvenile barb about Danny, replayed itself in her mind. Why couldn't she just let it all go? He had pushed her away, hard and with certainty. Then he'd expressed concern about her – not wanting her to work out in the weather when she was sick and those boys were trapped – and she'd shoved right back. If Woody thought she was going to let him treat her like some prize, something he could ignore when it suited and something he claimed when someone else expressed interest…well, he'd have to think again. Yet here she was – her body tingling at his nearness, her memory whispering of all the times they'd been there for each other, her heart hoping that some small spark remained. She put her head in her hands. The aroma of fresh coffee preceded Woody's return, giving Jordan just enough time to swipe at the tears in her eyes.

If Woody noticed her expression, he made no comment, for which she was grateful. Instead, they dove into the sandwiches, munching silently for a few minutes. Finally, Jordan took a breath. "That's good. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Couldn't have you fainting from hunger, could I?" He smiled. He took another bite of his sub and watched her as he chewed. After he swallowed, he spoke, as evenly as he could. "Who was the call from?"

She kept her eyes fixed on his. "Danny McCoy." She reached for her coffee and held the cup for a moment. "I was supposed to go to the Montecito this weekend." She took a sip.

Woody said nothing for a long moment. "You _were_ supposed to go?"

"I am," she corrected. "I mean, I was… this case." She waved a hand over the unreviewed files.

He nodded. "The case. Right." He reached for a file. "How about I take January?"

The temperature dropped a few degrees. Jordan took another sip of coffee – the only still warm thing in the room. She muttered she'd look through February. Neither of them could meet the other's gaze.

They read in silence for nearly in hour. Occasionally, Jordan would tap her pen on the desk, until Woody glared at her and she stopped, only to start again. After about the fifth time, he leaned over her desk and took the pen away. She began to tap nails.

"Jordan," he growled.

"Sorry." She looked sheepish. However, before long, she was at it again.

"I really don't want to have to rip off your nails," Woody threatened.

She sat up. "No, you really don't." Her eyes moved rapidly, scanning the page in front of her.

He sat up straighter. "You have something?"

"February, I think."

"Hit me."

She leaned forward, the file open in front of her. "Arlene Rosen, married, mother of two, died in a hunting accident on – Valentine's Day."

"If you tell me Cupid shot her through the heart…."

Jordan shook her head. "I don't know about Cupid, but someone did."

"Hey, were any of the others married?"

"No. And Arlene wasn't a – oh, she was a model about ten years ago. She fits."

"Brunette?"

Jordan looked at the picture. "Dyed. And – that's interesting – the dye job was at least a couple of weeks old. She's got roots showing."

"So our killer wasn't so thorough about some things at first?"

She shrugged. "It would seem so. If that's the case, maybe he wasn't so thorough about other things either. We'll re-run whatever we can."

He shifted gears. "No suspects?"

"The husband," Jordan read. "He's a hunter, a bow hunter, but his alibi was solid."

"Where was she killed?"

"Her back yard. It backed up onto woodlands. She was apparently out cleaning up after the dog." Jordan shook her head. "There were two other suspects – a couple of teens out shooting in that area. They weren't supposed to be there, but a neighbor saw the car, got the plate. They both swore they didn't shoot toward the houses and there was no forensics to disprove it."

"The case is still open?"

She checked. "Yeah. It's Seely's. You know," she tapped her fingernails against the desk again. "If those two are telling the truth, they might have seen or heard something."

Woody agreed, adding getting Seely to interview them to his list of things to do. He watched as Jordan rubbed her temples. "We can leave this, Jo."

She looked up at him. "No, this guy didn't start in April – or March – or February." She tapped the dwindling stack of January cases. "He started in January. It's in here. And maybe we can figure out the pattern."

He set his jaw. "I know it is, but – this is a lot. You've gotten me a lot, Jordan. We'll find the January case. It's no use getting so tired you can't find it."

"It's just one more-"

"Jordan, come on. You've gone above and beyond… like you always do."

She considered him for a moment, finally sighing deeply and agreeing. "But I want to put the February information on the board."

Woody sat on the edge of her desk and watched as she added what they learned. "So, here we go – Miss February."

"Mrs. February," she amended.

"Right. Our only married one."

Jordan wrote rapidly, starring the differences, highlighting certain facts in different colors. At last, she was satisfied with the new material. She turned back. Woody was still sitting on the edge of her desk. She reached around him to put the pen back. "That's it," she said, starting to step back.

His hand closed over her wrist. "Not quite, Jo," he told her, his voice low and gruff as he tugged her into his arms.

END Part Seven


	8. No Point in Trying to Pretend

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**A/N: This part kind of took on a mind of its own. I hope you enjoy!**

**Part Eight: No Point in Trying to Pretend**

_July 7, 2006_

"Woody," she murmured, her heart pounding in her chest, her head swimming. She made to pull away, but his grip on her was tight. "It's late."

He nodded.

"This case-" Her voice rose.

"Forget the case for a moment, Jordan."

Her eyes were huge and round, the pupils dilated as adrenaline coursed through her. Woody's closeness, the feel of his hands on her arms, was making her head spin. "But-"

He dipped his head down and kissed her. No cell phones, no backing away, only response. His lips pressed against hers; his tongue teased open her mouth. He released her arms and pulled her to him in a closer embrace, their bodies pressed together. His hands moved up and down her back, making her moan softly into his kiss. The sound was a feeling that struck him like a lightning bolt. His mouth became harder on hers and she matched him. Her arms went around his neck, holding tightly to him. Their tongues explored and brushed against each other. She moaned again.

He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around him. Tearing his mouth from hers, he panted at her. "Here?"

Frantically, she nodded. "Get the door."

"Huh?"

"Lock. The. Door."

Still holding her, he stumbled to the door. She reached down and locked it. Woody turned her around and, finding her mouth with his again, moved toward the couch. He glanced down and groaned. They had piled all the files they'd read on it. He rested his forehead on hers. "We'd better move those."

Her eyes glinted. "My desk is pretty clear."

His eyebrows shot up as if propelled by a rocket launcher. "Yeah?"

"Unless you want to waste time moving files or watch me pick the lock to Garret's office," she replied.

Apparently, he didn't want her to show off one of her more nefarious skills. He set her down on the edge of her desk, his hands running up and down her arms. He brought them back to cup her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. He almost asked if she was certain and then decided the time for words was long past. Instead, he plundered her mouth again as he bowed her body down, pressing her into the desktop and scattering the few items still on it.

Her hands scrabbled for the hem of his dress shirt, pulling it from the waistband of his pants and letting her fingers go to work on the buttons. Her nails ran lightly over his skin as she made her way to the upper buttons. Her hands flattened against his chest and moved outward as she pushed the garment off his shoulders. She drew her mouth away so she could concentrate on getting his arms free of the sleeves. It was damn hard to focus, however, with his lips brushing against her cheek and then down to her jaw and up her neck to her ear. His breath was ragged and hot against her skin. She shuddered deliciously at the sensation while he shook himself out of the shirt at last.

He made short work of the silk tank top she was wearing. He unclasped the girlie-pink bra she had on and tugged it away from her. His lips traced a trail of fire down the column of her neck and into the hollow between her breasts. She arched against him, her head back, eyes open but glazed with desire, her hair spilling over her desk. He cupped both breasts gently, his thumbs running in soft sweeps along the sides. Jordan gasped.

Woody's hands skimmed down her abdomen, appreciating the taut muscles that gave way to the curve of her hips. He tugged open the top button on her jeans and then groaned. "Button flies, Jo?"

She grinned lazily. "What can I say? I'm an old fashioned girl."

He grinned at her. "Uh-huh." He worked the remaining buttons open and eased her out of the tight denims. He was already out of his suit pants as he kissed his way back up her body. She wrapped her legs around his back and guided him into her. He caught her cry of pleasure in his kiss.

He moved slowly at first despite the movement of her hips urging him to speed up the pace. He took her hands in his and wove their fingers together, resting them on the fanned silk of her hair. Around him he felt her body begin to tighten as her breathing quickened. He met her unspoken demand and increased the tempo. Her eyes flew wide and she bit her lower lip to stifle the sounds of her pleasure from any overly curious security guards. He watched her face as the orgasm took her, her eyes glowed so warmly that they made him think of the legendary Russian amber room, all honey-light and magic.

She shifted beneath him, taking him deeper inside of her. He groaned at the sensation. Suddenly he was aware only of what it felt like to be wrapped up in her and with her and to sate himself with her. He buried his head in the curve of her neck, kissing her softly, repeatedly, as he climaxed. Trembling, he rested his forehead on hers, slowly untwining their hands. He lifted her hair and combed through a few of the damp tangles. He kept his eyes closed. He didn't dare look at her.

He had been awful to her when he was hospitalized. Then, after ignoring her for two months, he'd used her trust, used what they had – what they might have had – to get to Riggs. In all the dumb stunts she'd pulled, she'd never done anything so calculating to him. It had been one of the best and worst things about Jordan Cavanaugh – she didn't calculate; she leapt and hoped she'd land somewhere decent with her limbs mostly intact. When she'd called a spade a spade and challenged him over ignoring her, he had begun to see a few things her way, but by then she was angry with him for entirely new reasons. Their timing, never the best to begin with, had disintegrated with Riggs – maybe before that if Woody was honest with himself. Now they could barely be civil to one another.

On most days. Today obviously didn't count.

He murmured an apology and pushed himself away from her.

Her eyes flashed. "Woody-"

"Don't say anything, Jordan. Don't. I know what you're going to say."

Angrily, she scrambled from the desk and found her undergarments. "You don't know what I'm going to say. Or why I'm going to say it. Stop thinking you do!"

"You're not going to tell me this was a mistake? That we should both take some time and figure out what we want? Or whatever excuse you can come up with."

She gaped at him, sputtering with anger.

"And you know what, Jordan? I'm not sure I blame you after what I did."

"What? What you did? What are you talking about?"

He gave her a look that would have caused a less stubborn woman to back away from the argument. He waved his hand at the pile of their still mostly-shed clothing as he fished out his pants to put on. "This. I know you never wanted this. Wanted me. And I – I – God, Jordan – I…."

She glared at him. "Did you hear me saying _no_, Woody? Did you feel me trying to push you away? Did you?"

He looked down at the carpet. "Jordan, come on. There's no point in trying to pretend."

END Part Eight


	9. Where Do We Go From Here?

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Rin22 - I hope this update is soon enough. Hopefully more soon.**

**Part Nine: Where Do We Go From Here?**

_July 7, 2006_

"Pretend?" Furious tears sprung to Jordan's eyes. "You think _that_ was pretending? You think – God – I don't - I don't know what to say to you, to get through to you."

His face contorted. "But you know what to say to Danny McCoy? You gonna tell him about this?"

"What the hell are you-?" She hit the brick wall of her own lies. She pressed her fingers to her forehead and then ran the hand through her hair. She took several deep, trembling breaths. "There's nothing between Danny and me. I haven't seen him in months."

Woody said nothing. His eyes grew darker. "You said…."

"I lied!" She flung back at him.

"But – you said – Jordan, I heard your half of that conversation. You made plans to go to Las Vegas."

"For a medical examiners' convention!"

That stopped the homicide detective. For a moment, he stared at her, his mouth moving soundlessly. "Why?"

"Why would I go to a medical exam-"

"Why did you – lie about you – and – and Vegas boy?"

Jordan shook her head. Her fury had spent itself, leaving an acid residue of pain and confusion. Again. Her voice rang with an emotional retreat perilously close to an admission of defeat. "I wanted you to – to be jealous." She couldn't look at him when she said it. She was remembering vividly why emotional honesty had never been her forte.

"Why?" He gasped the syllable as if he'd been punched.

She laughed, near to hysteria, the sound infused with bitterness and a thousand kinds of regret. "Because I meant it," she managed at last. She looked up at him. "What I said." She paused, forcing back the tears in her throat.

"Why then, Jo? Why that day? Why?"

She shrugged, brushing at the tears that wouldn't be denied. "Because I've never been good at the whole – at the relationship and trust thing. And part of it was that I never really trusted my own judgment." She bent over for a moment, finding the tissue box had fallen to the floor next to her chair. She plucked out one and sniffled into it. "But –" She swallowed. "But when that call came, I – I – I saw my life, my whole life, before you, with you and what it would be like without you." She stopped again and gave him a rueful smile. "And suddenly every fear I'd ever had just… vanished. The only thing I was afraid of was losing you." She blew her nose again. "But I did anyway." She sat down on her desk and folded her hands against her still-bare thighs. She sighed deeply, drawing the air from her diaphragm to steady herself. "You think this was a mistake."

"I didn't say that," he said softly. He scrubbed his hands along his stubbly cheeks and into his hair. He sat next to her, careful to keep a distance between them because, if the truth be known, he could have had her again right there and then. "God, Jo, we managed to fuck this up, didn't we?"

She looked at him sidelong, her sleek eyebrows arching. "Pun intended?"

"What?" His face registered the double meaning and he blushed. "No. Sorry."

"You ever wish we could go back? Start over?"

"The bank job?"

She reached for his hand. "The bad ties?"

He put an arm around her, and she leaned against him. "What now, Jo?"

She sighed, beginning to feel like a balloon with a slow leak. "Maybe we should try to be honest with each other."

He pretended to be taken aback, gaping at her, his eyes serious, but not as haunted as a few moments ago. "Jordan Cavanaugh, do you mean things like telling each other how we really feel?"

She bumped him with her shoulder. "We've tried everything else, haven't we?"

Woody tossed a glance over his shoulder at her clear – and polished – desk. "I'd say yeah."

This time she hit him in the chest with her palm, but she smiled at the same time. She looked down at their mutual state of half-dress. Her cheeks colored deeply. "Maybe we should – uh…." She gestured toward the pile of clothing.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I'm kind of enjoying the view."

She ran her own eyes over his physique. "It's a little distracting though."

XXXXX

They ended up at an all-night diner, drinking cups of bad coffee and sharing stale apple pie. Neutral territory had seemed like the best plan once they were both fully clothed again. Woody had offered to help Jordan tidy up, but she'd assured him she'd take care of it in the morning.

"It is the morning," he'd observed.

"_Later_ in the morning," she'd amended with a growl. "Possibly _much_ later."

They talked quietly and seriously, facing each other with grave expressions over the Formica tabletop. When Woody left – alone – ninety minutes later, they both felt better than they had in over a year, but there was still a lot of distance to bridge.

XXXXX

Jordan slipped into her office about an hour late. She closed the door as quietly as she could and took stock of the situation. Except for the office supplies strewn around her chair, it would be possible to deny anything ever happened there just a few hours earlier. She was still picking up paper clips when the door opened.

"I know you're in here, Jordan," Nigel's voice teased. Grimacing briefly, the M.E. raised her head above the desktop. Nigel arched an eyebrow and gave her a sly, knowing grin. "Problem, luv?"

Jordan improvised. "I – uh – yeah…." She stood up, holding the last few paper clips aloft. "I knocked the paper clips off my desk." She nodded, studying to see if he was buying what she was selling. "Uh, you know. This case. With the models. Frustration."

Her friend's face into the widest grin she'd ever seen. "Why do I doubt that?"

_Shit_! "Doubt what?" _Please let my face be the innocent one that Sister Mary Immaculata always believed._

"Oh, you know." He shrugged. "The frustration part." Then he waggled his eyebrows at her.

She felt hot blood rush into her cheeks. She averted her gaze. "No. Um – what are you talking about?"

"Oh, nothing much." He sauntered over and sat in the chair Woody had occupied the night before. "I just have the tiniest suspicion that my little ruse to get Woodrow over here last night was – shall we say? – a stunning success."

"Define stunning," she challenged, recovering her equilibrium somewhat.

Nigel chuckled, enjoying the fact that his generally unflappable Jordan was walking so easily into verbal traps this morning. "Oh no, I'll leave that up to you and Woody."

Jordan put her head in her hands. Without looking at him, she asked, "Are you here for a reason?"

"Wanted to see what happened."

If she hadn't just picked up all the paper clips, Jordan might have thrown them at him.

"So, did you two work things out?"

She choked at his expression. "Uh – Um…." She wiped her palms on her jeans. "We talked."

"And…?"

"And what?"

"Was that before or after the paper clips ended up on the floor?"

"Mostly after," she admitted, blushing again.

"We-ll." Nige rubbed his hands together in anticipation and happiness for her. "So – Woody and Jordan, sitting in a tree-"

"Nige! Quit. We talked. And we – the…." She arched a brow as he leaned forward, his elbows on her desk. Sweetly she said, "You may not want to put your elbows there."

"Why not-?" This time, to Jordan's delight, Nigel blushed. "Okay, I deserved that. But, come on, Jordan, I've watched you for the last year. You've flirted with Danny McCoy, dated that lovely reporter chap and a few others, but it's still Woody you've cared about."

She smiled. "Okay. Yeah. You're right. But – But, Nige, it's not that easy."

He nodded. "I know. It's better though?"

Now she nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. "We talked. Really, really talked about – everything, I guess." She flattened her palms on her desk. "There's a lot we both have to get past. We'll see."

"That is an improvement, Jordan."

"And none of it is going to happen with this case open."

Nigel shifted gears with her. "Did you find anything last night?"

Jordan nodded. She pointed to the board in the corner. "I'm pretty sure we got February and March."

"Not January?"

"We didn't – later."

He nodded sagely, letting her off the hook with that one. "Should I get the others?"

"Might as well. The more input, the better. Maybe we can finally crack this guy's … pattern."

No such luck.

July dragged itself into August with almost no progress to show. Tempers began to fray as the media started to get an inkling of what BPD and the Coroner's Office _weren't_ saying. Humid, muffling, record heat settled on the city for almost three weeks, adding to the emotions roiling in the case.

Jordan was just about to her car after a long day of autopsying deaths due to heat stroke, drowning and even severe food poisoning. Outside the heat had finally broken as the sky opened up and bucketed rain on the city. "Cavanaugh."

"We've got another one, Jo." Woody's voice was tense, angry and at the very limit of frustration.

Jordan thought of the skies. _Please tell me she's inside. Please._ "Where?" She groaned when he gave her the location. "Does this psycho control the weather?" She slammed her hand down on the roof of her car. "Three weeks of dry, dry weather!"

"I know. Believe me, I know."

"I'll grab Nigel and head over there. We'll salvage what we can. Damn!"

"Jo?"

"What?" Her voice was sharper than she intended.

"We may have a witness. If she lives."

END Part Nine


	10. Hour Upon the Stage

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**Part Ten: Hour upon the Stage**

_August 24, 2006_

By the time Nigel and Jordan arrived at the beach where the latest victim had been found, the rain had petered out, though the air was still heavy with more to come. Carefully, they picked their way over the wet sand toward the police lights.

The girl had been strangled. Jordan knelt and peered at the ligature marks. "Nige, what do you think? A sash of some sort? Look at those marks."

Nigel joined her, his lips pursed as he considered the livid indentations in the girl's neck.

"Could it be this, guys?" Woody held up a gold, braided sash, its ends rough and frayed where they'd been hacked from some larger piece. Both Nigel and Jordan stood up.

"Yeah, yeah, that could be it," the Brit confirmed. He studied it from several angles. "What is it?"

"And where did come from?" Jordan added.

"For your first question, the answer is – I don't know. For the second…." He flicked up his eyebrows and gave them a grim, determined, tight smile. "It was found around the neck of our possible witness."

Jordan recalled that bit of information with a start. "How is… she? He?"

"She. No surprise there, right?" Jordan and Nigel both rolled their eyes in agreement. "She's been taken to Mass General. The paramedics weren't too optimistic."

"Our perp tried to strangle her, too, I take it," Nigel commented.

The detective nodded. "We don't know what stopped him – her – the killer – whatever." He paused. "The second victim put up a pretty good fight based on the way the sand was churned up."

"Good for her." Jordan's voice was as grim as Woody's smile had been. "We'll probably be able to get some good evidence then."

Nigel was poking around the scene. "Good thing, because we're not going to be able to get much from the victim or the scene. This rain…." He gestured futilely around.

XXXXX

Jordan returned to the morgue with the body, while Nigel went to the hospital to see about evidence on the as-of-now survivor. She recorded the corpse's vital stats, shuddering at yet another young woman – this one all of twenty-one – dead for some truly incomprehensible reason. She stopped for a moment, gathering up her emotions, searching for some objectivity. Taking a deep breath, Jordan resumed her clinical observation.

"What's this?" She murmured to herself as a gold glint caught her attention. The girl – Audra Daley – had an object clutched in her right hand. Jordan took photographs and then opened the girl's hand. As much as she hated prying open the joints of the deceased, this was somehow worsen – Audra hadn't been dead long enough for rigor to even consider setting in. If only someone had gotten there a bit sooner….

"Huh." The M.E. bit her lower lip. "Interesting." She removed, photographed and catalogued the item from the victim's hand. A gold pin with the Drama and Tragedy masks. "Could be our tie-in to the models. If she was…." Jordan's jaw dropped. She knew what had strangled the girl. She told herself - for the millionth time perhaps - that every tiny piece of _what_ would eventually add up to show them _who_.

Jordan worked for nearly an hour before Nigel called her. The second victim had arrested in the ER and died on the table. "Oh, man," Jordan breathed.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Look, everything's arranged here. I'm going home. Unless…?"

She could hear in his voice his desire to get away from the case. "Nah," she told him. "I've got a few things to run and then I'm outta here, too."

"Autopsy tomorrow?"

"Yep."

"You sure, luv?"

Jordan glanced at the theater masks pin. "Yeah, it's fine. Nothing I can't handle."

She spent another hour taking prints and fiber samples before the door creaked open, driving her heart into her throat with a girlie squeak she would have rather no one ever heard. Woody grinned at her and apologized. "You'd probably hate for a description of that sound to get around."

She shot him a very level gaze. "Tell me – was Sam planning on using Marquez… or Hoyt?" Her own smile was playful.

"It wasn't…." He closed his mouth with such force Jordan was pretty sure she could hear his fillings rattle. "How'd you know about that?"

"Danny."

"You said you hadn't seen him in months!"

She shrugged. "I haven't." She stripped off her gloves and watched his discomfiture from beneath her lashes. "I never said we hadn't talked."

Woody had the grace to admit defeat with a shake of his head. He watched her as she washed up. "You getting ready to leave?"

She shrugged. She'd half meant it when she'd told Nigel she'd leave, but each "little thing" she did seemed to lead to another and another. "I – uh – I don't know. I found a few things…."

Woody was more alert instantly, his eyes flashing. "Like what?"

She showed him the pin. "I got prints from it. The victim's – and someone else's."

He cocked an eyebrow. "You're not just trying to get my hopes up, are you?"

"Nope." She showed him the comparisons of the prints. "It's a little smudged, but usable."

"Could be a friend's or someone in her family."

"Could be. But it could be the killer's. Woody, this guy has been so careful that he could be getting careless – finally!"

He chewed the inside of his lip. "You ran it?"

"Yeah," she admitted with a sigh. "Okay, so it might not lead us to the killer – it might help us convict when we do find him."

"Hey, I'm not criticizing, Jordan. This is – This is one of the best breaks we've had."

"There's more." She pointed out the murder weapon. "I figured out what it is." He waited. "It's part of one of those tie-backs they use at theaters – to hold the curtains back."

Woody looked at the cord with a new perspective. "You sure?"

"Pretty sure. If I'm right, I bet Bug can find all sorts of lovely details to help us figure out where it came from. Or at least narrow down the search."

Woody nodded. "The girl was a drama major at Radcliff. Maybe it was someone who knew her."

"Yeah." Jordan reached a hand around and massaged her left shoulder. "Nigel told me. About the other victim."

He nodded again.

"If I could find January's murder…."

"Still nothing?

She shook her head. "I even went back and checked December just in case."

Woody studied her for a moment, concern in his eyes. With her hair drawn back, her face looked thinner and, maybe it was the long day she must have had, but the circles under her eyes were too pronounced. "You're doing everything you can."

She tilted her head. "I don't feel like I'm getting anywhere."

"It'll happen. He made mistakes this time. There's going to be leads." He paused. "Let's get out of here, grab a late dinner."

"Woody-"

"I've hardly seen you, Jo."

Her eyes widened and in them, Hoyt detected a new worry – not that he was getting to close, but that she'd waited too long. "We agreed there were too many distractions. This case or us. Didn't we?"

"Yeah, I know. I'm not – I'm not trying to accuse you of anything. I just… miss seeing you." To reinforce his point, he crossed the room and took her in his arms, kissing her forehead gently before moving to her mouth. She relaxed against him for a moment, but pulled away all to soon. He gazed down at her, his eyes questioning.

"We said we weren't going to – um – do this again," she reminded him.

He brushed a thumb along her cheek bone, watching her eyelids flutter as she fought the desire he was building in her. He dipped his head and kissed her jaw, moving up slowly to her ear. "I know what I want, Jo." He threaded his fingers through her hair and tickled the lobe with soft nibbles. "You."

"Woody-"

He kissed her again, teasing her mouth open with his tongue. She moaned softly, the sound undulating through his body like a rising tide. His fingers kneaded her scalp as he pressed her to him with more ardor. For a delicious moment, she responded, her body curved into his, her tongue brushing his own, her pulse racing. Woody lifted her up, his arms around her waist. He hoped he knew these hallways as well as he thought he did, because the last thing he wanted to do as he carried her off to her office was have to stop kissing her to see where he was going. Idly he wondered if her couch was still stacked with files.

Then she was sliding out of his embrace, pulling away, shaking her head.

He let her go with a frustrated snort and a shake of his head. He backed away, ready for the usual Jordan litany of why this shouldn't happen. He could have sworn she must have written it down over the years. "All right, Jordan. Why not now? Why last time and not now?"

She arched an eyebrow at him and, with a sweep of her hand, indicated he should look around the room. "Woody, we're not even in an office. We're in a room where dead bodies are examined. It's creepy."

His blue eyes took on a hopeful sparkle. "That's it?"

"And we both needed time to think."

He closed his eyes as a deep sigh escaped. When he looked at her, the sparkle was gone. "Here we go."

Anger flashed across her face. "What do you want, Woody?"

"What do I-?" He exhaled angrily. "What do I want, Jordan? I want you!"

"Why?"

His look of disbelief stung her, but she held firm, saying nothing until he deigned to answer. "Why? Because – Because I love you."

"Then you'll be willing to wait until we solve this damn case."

"Jordan, it makes sense – some sense! But – Why is that so important to you?"

"Why did you shut me out of your life for so long?"

He struggled for a moment with the twist in the conversation, but eventually went along with her. He glanced at the floor, then back at her. "Because I was scared and angry and you were the only person I knew I could make feel as badly as I did. And then – Then I started getting my head back on straight and saw how much I'd hurt you and I didn't want to risk hurting you… Damn it, Jo!"

"It's not easy, is it?" Her voice was tight with tears, her eyes warm with empathy.

He took several deep breaths. "I'm beyond that. I want us to move beyond it. I want there to be _us_."

Jordan took the leap she had shrunk from for so long. "So do I, Woody. But I want _us_ to stand a chance. And that's not going to happen if we start off in the – in –" She chuckled. "- Somewhere there's a whole convent of nuns who are really happy, even though they can't explain why." She took a deep breath. "We don't stand a chance if we start off in bed."

"Jordan, it's not all about that. It's not."

"I know. But – it would be easy to start there and tell ourselves that great sex meant a great-"

"Great?"

"You didn't think so?"

He laughed. "No, I thought so. I didn't know if… you…."

She smiled at him and this time it was Jordan who crossed the few steps between them. She put her arms around his neck and looked up into his eyes. "It was great, Woody. Really, really great." She shrugged. "But I want more than great sex with you. I want a great relationship. And that means, in the beginning, I want fewer distractions and pressures."

"Jo, there are always going to be homicides."

"But hopefully there aren't always going to be psychotically clever murderers stalking women for reasons we haven't begun to understand. I want to be able to go out for chowder when it's cold, watch the Patriots on Sunday and have a few beers, sit and tell each other what we did for our – our seventh birthdays." She watched his face, searching his eyes for comprehension, which she found. She finished with a sly grin. "And _then_ we can have great sex."

He smiled at her before dropping a light kiss on her forehead. "Thank God."

"For great sex?"

"That, too." He hugged her to him. "For a minute there I was really worried."

"About…?"

"I thought you'd grown up completely."

She smirked. "No, probably no chance of that, Farm Boy. Just enough to know what sitting on the fence got me and enough more to realize that old habits weren't going to make me any happier than they ever did."

He brushed a hand over her hair, loving its soft texture against his palm. Slowly, drawing out the moment, he dipped his mouth to hers, until she leaned up and caught him by surprise. When they pulled away – at the same time – her face was flushed and her honey colored eyes glowed with a desire that was as much emotional as it was physical. Woody kept smiling at her. "Can I take you home if I tell you all about my seventh birthday party?"

She rolled her eyes at him.

"I'm kidding." He kissed her forehead again. "We'll wait."

XXXXX

Woody ended up leaving before Jordan. He protested, but she promised him she could get from the bathroom to her car safely by herself. Reluctantly, but exhausted, his old injuries acting up a bit, he gave in.

Jordan was determined to go home. She was too tired to do any good tonight. As she hurried down the hall to her office to collect her purse and keys, she saw one of the night security guards walking ahead of her. She started to greet the woman, but realized this one must be new. Jordan was familiar with everyone else. The scent of a strong aftershave lingered in the hall, making the M.E. shake her head in wonder. "Interesting personal choice."

The woman with the slight build and long, blond ponytail turned around. "Can I help you?"

Jordan knew why they hadn't found January's victim. And she knew she wasn't heading home after all.

END Part Ten


	11. Each and Every Day

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**Part Eleven: Each and Every Day**

_August 25, 2006_

Just after four in the morning Jordan found January's murder. She read the report three times, made notes and then set it aside. She took a very long shower, changing into scrubs and half-heartedly wishing for the days she'd stayed at the morgue and been assured of a change of clean clothes. More or less clean clothes. Still rubbing her eyes, she went down to get coffee, thanking God that the little place on the corner opened at five.

Coffee and a paper in hand, she returned to her office to stare owlishly at the front page and read the lead article about ten times – at least the first two sentences, that is. Around six-thirty her cell phone rang. She groaned when she read the caller i.d. "Hi, Woody."

"Jordan, where the hell are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I came by your place to bring you breakfast and you're not here. It worried me!"

She smiled. "I'm at work."

There was a long pause. "You said you were going home."

"I know. But I got some – ah – inspiration." She hunched forward, resting her elbows on her desk. "I found January's murder, Woody."

"Your breakfast and I are on our way."

XXXXX

When Woody had finished reading the file, he looked up at Jordan, who was thoroughly enjoying the warm, flaky croissant he'd brought her – and more coffee. "Are you sure?"

She nodded.

"But – But – Jordan, this is-"

"I know! And it's why we couldn't find the vic before! We were looking for a woman."

He nodded, his eyes still wide with disbelief. "Jordan, I don't want to-"

"Woody, I know it's weird, but you read the file!" She gestured to the folder still open in front of him. "The vic was a female impersonator. Brunette like the other vics. A model like the others. And he died in a way that didn't raise any eyebrows at the time, but when you put it with the others…."

Woody took a deep breath and nodded in agreement. "It's just so – strange." He sipped his own coffee. "What made you think of it anyway?"

She grinned. "A new security guard."

"Huh?"

Her grin widened. "I was about to leave – really, I was – and there was this new security guard walking ahead of me. Long, blond ponytail, slender build – I thought it was a woman. As I got closer though I could smell this really strong aftershave. I thought it was odd and muttered something-" Woody raised an eyebrow at her. She ignored him. "So, the guard turned around."

"And turned out to be a man."

Jordan nodded. "Which made me think about how we'd never been able to find January's victim. I figured it was worth a shot."

"And you were on target."

"Looks like it." She screwed up the croissant wrapper and tossed it toward the trash can. It went in easily. "It must be my day."

For a moment, the detective studied her. "I don't want to –uh- rain on your parade, but I'm not sure how much this really helps."

"Woody! Come on, one male victim and seven females. We've got to be able to find some connection between all of them."

He didn't reply, just nodded, knowing Jordan was already off on the scent of a lead and nothing he could say would deter her. Instead he finished his coffee. When he had, he stood up and sedately threw his cup away before perching himself on the edge of her desk, looking down into her upturned face. "If it's there, you'll find it." He reached out a hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just be careful, Jo." He leaned closer to her and kissed her softly. "As much as I want this case closed for all sorts of reasons, I don't want you to do anything impulsive."

She gave him an innocent look. "Me? Impulsive? When?"

He chuckled at her. "Promise me."

She put out a hand and scrubbed it through his hair. "I'll be careful."

Woody sighed. "That's going to have to do, isn't it?"

Her nod answered him just before she touched her lips to his again. This kiss was not as soft or chaste as the one that had preceded it. Jordan's arms were around his neck, her palms pressing his mouth to hers. He ran his hands up and down her arms, making her shiver. When they broke apart, he murmured, "I could get used to starting the day this way."

Her smile was luminous, but her eyes were cool.

XXXXX

Jordan's day was busy with a variety of autopsies that prevented her from looking for the connection she was certain existed. On her way out of her office, she grabbed the stack of notes she'd made over the last few months, determined to sit down with them at home. She was in the elevator when Woody called. She told him what she planned on doing and he volunteered to bring the take-out and beer. For a heart stopping moment, Jordan almost told him _no_. _Too much like old times_ her brain said, and her heart agreed – for totally different reasons.

"Jordan?"

She heard the puzzlement in his voice and the slight undertone of accusation and resignation. "Yeah, sure. Sounds great."

Did it though? In some ways, things were easier now. They were back on speaking terms, and then some, but Jordan could still guard her heart from him. The truth for her was that deep down as much as she wanted him in her life, as much as she needed him in her life, she was still scared. Right now, she could control things, as she almost always had. If that ended… if that ended, she'd have to be the grown up he thought she was now. She'd have to take the leap of faith that never came easily for her – if it ever came at all.

By the time Woody arrived, she had changed into sweats and a t-shirt and gotten her nerves more or less settled. Her heart twisted at the ease with which he recalled the minutia of her lifestyle. Plates and napkins were found without hesitation. He handed her the mu shu shrimp first and watched her fix herself a pancake while he opened the beers. She could feel the strength of his gaze on her and the clear longing in his eyes as she focused on her meal.

After a few bites of his own food, he put down the chopsticks. "Too domestic for you, Jordan?"

She looked up, her eyes wide. "What? No, it's fine." Her smile was bright, but brittle.

"I thought we were being honest with each other."

She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it against the futile insistence on the tip of her tongue.

"What is it? Because I'm kind of enjoying this. It's like old times."

She sighed. "And that doesn't worry you?"

"Should it?" His expression was even and neutral, but she could hear the anxiety laced into the edge of his voice.

"I don't know. I'm not sure."

He nodded. "Of what? You? Me? Us?"

"Yes," she agreed.

He gave her a small laugh. "The more things change…?

She put down her food. "Woody, I'm not good at the whole relationship … thing."

"I thought you said the sex was great."

She blushed. "_That_ part I'm good at." Jordan shook her head. "It's the other stuff. Trusting myself to – to – to be with someone and not screw up their life. Trusting someone else not to screw up _my_ life because I pretty much have that covered on my own."

Woody pursed his lips. "You told me you wanted there to be _us_. Have you changed you mind, Jo?"

She put a hand to her forehead, swallowing the hot tears in her throat. "No. I – I need you in my life. I _want_ you in my life-"

He moved closer to her, cupped her head in his hand and drew her to him. In a gruff whisper, he asked, "And in your bed? Or do we go back to the way it was?"

"No, no. No! I – I don't want to go back, Woody." She took a shaky breath. "I don't know if I can explain it."

"Try."

She slipped from his hold and rested against the back of the couch. She bit her lower lip until it stung. "I – I've always needed to be in control."

"I noticed," he interrupted with a slight smile.

She dipped her head for a moment. "I – I kept you at a distance because I … could, I guess. And then – then I got that phone call and - I told you before, everything I was afraid of vanished. I was ready to – to let go of that control." She sniffed.

Woody took a deep breath. "And I told you to get out of my life."

Jordan nodded.

"Which leaves us where now?"

She turned her head and looked at him. With one gentle finger, she traced a trail down his jaw line.

"Jordan?"

"I want to be at that point again, Woody. I really do." _But I'm terrified_ went unsaid, but not unheard by his heart.

"Jo, what happened before… I – I had a lot of – emotions inside that I spent a long time denying. With Riggs, it all came crashing down and the person I blamed for the debris was you." He ran a hand over her hair. "I had a lot of _if onlys_ in my head. If only some other detective had caught that bank job. If we hadn't broken down in the desert. If you hadn't turned down that ring." He snorted softly. "My life was supposed to be different than it was, Jordan, and, lying in that hospital bed, I decided you were the reason it hadn't turned out the way I wanted." He caught her gaze with his. "I was wrong."

"Were you?"

He nodded. "Dead wrong. I had choices along the way. The truth is I made my choices – you. Always you." He took her hand, respecting the space she'd created. "I'm always going to choose you. If you let me."

She closed her eyes, but held tightly to his hand. "I wanted to have this conversation – later." She swallowed.

"We seem to be having it now."

"I jumped once before, Woody. It took me a damn long time to do it – I know. But I did."

He put his arm around her and nudged her until she rested against him. With his free hand, he tilted up her chin. His mouth was soft against hers, his lips deft and teasing. He ran his tongue along her bottom lip, tasting her when she opened to him. His arm around her tightened, and the kiss deepened. He buried his hand in the dark waves of her hair as his lips pressed more firmly against hers. She pulled away, breathing heavily. He cradled her head in his hand. "Jump, Jo. Jump again. I promise I'll be there this time."

She looked into his face, her eyes bright with the sheen of unshed tears.

He took her face in his hands. "Jordan." His voice was urgent, pleading. His thumbs brushed along her cheekbones. He could feel the pounding of her heart and he watched as her face flushed more deeply from the racing of her blood. He followed the light touch of his fingers with his lips, letting his mouth follow the strong curves of her face until their lips met again. He whispered her name again and this time she replied. Her one word response made him smile against her. _Catch_.

Her hands were on his shoulders, her fingers kneading the muscles. Her body slid down, drawing him along until they were stretched on her couch, their lips never parting. They breathed through each other's kisses, and their tongues danced slowly one against the other, the frenzy of her office abated, replaced by a flame just as hot but more sustained. He found the hem of her t-shirt and tugged it up, baring her flesh to his fingers. She gasped as pleasure so fierce it was almost an ache raced through her. His hands skimmed along her sides as he eased her out of the shirt. He finally released her mouth to kiss his way down the column of her throat while his hands slipped her bra straps down and he eased the cups down. She moaned throatily when his fingers brushed the stiff peaks of her nipples. Her fingers wound themselves into his hair and she dragged him back up to her mouth. He kissed her, the tempo increasing with the easy sweep and swirl and his thumbs along her breasts. Her moans became more frequent, verging on frantic, and her hands untangled themselves from his hair to go to work on the buttons of his shirt. He gave a small yelp as she sent the last one flying, its stitching sundered by her growing frenzy.

"Jordan!"

She laughed. "Sorry."

He grinned down at her. "No, you're not."

She brought her head up to his and gave him a teasing kiss. "Are you?"

He shook his head. "No." He looked down at her, drinking her in with his eyes as he hadn't been able to before. Her dark hair tumbled around her shoulders, curls and tangles framing her face. Her skin glowed with desire, satin to his touch. He bent his head to her neck, kissing her again, reveling in the soft sighs she made. "Are you sure about this?"

She cupped his face in her hands and smiled at him, nodding slowly.

"Really sure, Jordan? Because I don't think I can go back. Last time was… different. This time it's for real. _We're_ for real."

Wordlessly, she pushed him away, gently. She stood up and held out her hand. "Come on, Farm Boy." She grinned headily. "Time for a reality check."

His eyes flared with the fullness of his desire. He took the proffered hand and followed her as she padded softly across the room to her bed. They undressed each other slowly, certainty of one another's intentions giving them the luxury of time. Woody picked up where he'd left off on the couch, his fingers teasing gasps and moans from her as he catalogued the touches that sent shockwaves through her. Where his fingers explored, his lips soon followed to Jordan's delight. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, her heart racing when he finally worked his back to her mouth. Her body ached for him and from her heart all doubts had been banished.

He moved over her, letting her guide him into her receptive body. They both moaned at the moment of this most intimate contact. Woody stopped, trembling, fighting for control, wanting the sweetness, the intense pleasure to be drawn out as long as possible. He still felt a slight guilt over the last time. Rough, heated, primal, he'd taken her and, even if she'd wanted to give herself to him, he should have had more restraint. This time he was determined to give, not take. She shattered his intentions by wrapping her legs around his waist and urging him deeper into her as her hips moved in a slow, irresistible rhythm.

Still, he felt her body clench around him and knew she was lost in the passion as he was. Her nails dug into his back as her cries danced in the air around them. He murmured her name as he flew over the edge after her. Collapsing against her, his lips found her again and he kissed her softly, tenderly. "God, Jo. You're amazing."

"You're not too bad yourself," she told him, grinning, sated.

He wrapped his arms around her and rolled her over so that she lay on top of her. The last thing he wanted to do was lose contact with her, but she was much lighter on him than he would be. She laid her head on the pillow next to him, content to remain draped over him, his heat and scent enveloping her. His hands prowled restlessly up and down her back, stopping to comb tangles from her hair. They kissed lazily, breaking apart often to stare into each other's eyes. They both felt it when his body was ready again and they made love slowly, the pleasure sinking deep into their muscles and bones.

Only after did a realization strike Woody. It was one that made him groan.

"What?" Jordan's voice was sleepy.

"I – uh – We – I mean – We didn't take any precautions. Unless you're…?"

She shook her head.

"Not that it would be a bad thing. Just the timing…."

She grinned at him. "Quit worrying. It's not the right time."

He eyed her suspiciously. "Are you sure?"

She reached over him, opening the top drawer of the bedside stand. She fished blindly for a moment and then drew out a small date book. There was enough light from the front of the loft to show him.

"You keep – keep track? Even though you're… not…?"

She chuckled. "I'm a doctor, Farm Boy. And it's not a bad idea for any woman to keep track. So, yeah. And it's safe. We're safe. In fact, we've got about…." Her eyes widened.

"Jordan?"

The calendar dropped from her nerveless fingers. "I get it."

"What? Get what? Jordan."

She looked at him. "I understand the different M.O.'s."

END Part Eleven


	12. An Oldie But a Goodie

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**A/N: Thanks for the feedback! It's always appreciated.**

**Part Twelve: An Oldie But a Goodie**

_August 26, 2006_

Woody gaped at her. "The different M.O.'s?"

Jordan nodded. "The serial killer. The puzzle. I get it."

"Okay. Care to share it with me?"

"Just a sec." She sat up and got out of bed, tugging clothes back on and hurrying to the kitchen, where she'd dropped the files when she'd gotten home. She came back with the folders, her notes and a pen. "Now, let's see how much of this I can remember."

"How much of what, Jo?"

She gave him a sly smile. "See if you can follow me here, Woody." She quickly made a chart with each victim's name and month they'd died. Then to each line she added something. Woody read over her shoulder.

Mark Bedakker – January – You start the year off fine

Arlene Rosen – February – You're my little valentine

Maddie Larkin – March – I'm gonna march you down the aisle

Eliza Bowmen – April - You're the Easter Bunny when you smile

Kristy Douglas – May - Maybe if I ask your dad and mom

Ashlynn Dreyfus – June - They'll let me take you to the Junior Prom

Cassie Martin – July - Like a firecracker all aglow

Audra Daley – August - When you're on the beach you steal the show

She finished writing and looked over her shoulder at him. "Well?"

"Uh…? Sorry. I don't get it." She hummed a few bars of the old Neil Sedaka song until Woody's eyes sparked with recognition. "_Calendar Girl_? Is that the song?"

She nodded. "And it's the pattern. Mark Bedakker was killed on January first, starting the year off 'fine.' Arlene Rosen was killed by a bow and arrow, as if shot by Cupid, on Valentine's Day. Maddie Larkin was the bride in March, ready to walk down the aisle."

Woody got with her train of thought. "Eliza Bowmen was found in a bunny suit. Kristy Douglas? Okay, I'm not sure I get that one."

Jordan rifled the pile of folders, pulling out the one for the girl in question. "Here." She pointed. "Someone called the parents asking if he could take their daughter out. _Maybe if I ask your dad mom_…. Woody, it all fits."

He looked at the names, the dates, the lyrics Jordan had recalled. He shuddered. "That's pretty twisted."

She nodded, chewing her bottom lip.

"What?"

"Huh?" Jordan looked up. "Oh, well, that explains the M.O.s, but not necessarily the connections between all the victims."

"We'll find it, Jordan."

Still gnawing her lip, she sighed. "We have six days until the clock starts ticking again."

"I wonder what September is." His voice was glum as he thought of the implications of her statement.

"Something about blowing out the candles on your 'Sweet Sixteen.'" She clenched her jaw. "We have to find out who's doing this, Woody. I don't want to autopsy another teenager."

He took her notes from her hands, gathered up the files and took them to the kitchen. She watched him, saying nothing. He switched off the lights and came back to her bed. With a quiet "Come here," he pulled her into his arms. "Jordan, I've never seen you give up. And I've rarely seen you fail. _And_ I think we had a pretty good track record together." He reached for the hand she'd rested on his chest and wove his fingers with hers. "We'll find him."

Slowly, she nodded.

Woody kissed the top of her head and was rewarded by her nestling closer to him. He gazed down at her, glad of the dim moonlight so he could watch her as he eyes closed, and she drifted off to sleep, something she hadn't had the previous night. In sleep, her features relaxed, the guard she could never quite lower completely disappeared, and he could see the woman she might have been if not for Emily, Max… him. He thought of the times over the years when he'd caught glimpses of that woman. The time in the desert. When she'd come to California. Dancing at the Pogue. Karaoke in Los Angeles. Dinners. Coffees. Moments strung together like twinkling Christmas lights. The times she had been content simply to _be_. Nothing to defend herself against; nothing to prove. The times when all the passion she brought to her job, she brought to her life as well. As carefully as he could, he combed his fingers through her hair. He wouldn't change who life had made her – that realization had been a lot longer in coming than he liked to admit – but he wanted to see her this way more. Content. At peace.

Not to mention naked in bed with him.

That salacious thought made him grin, and he kissed her head again. She didn't wake, but the arm thrown around his shoulders tightened its grip. Listening to her soft, even breathing, Woody fell asleep.

XXXXX

He woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of running water. He stretched, yawning, unable to quit grinning like an idiot. He'd almost lost the one woman who meant the world to him. Who was he kidding? He had lost her for a while. But they'd found their way back to each other and, this time, he wasn't letting go. _Might be a good idea to remind her of that_.

He nudged open the bathroom door quietly. She was testing the water in the shower. As she began to shed the robe she'd put on, he tiptoed up behind her. "Let me," he murmured, nuzzling her ear. She shivered at the feel of his hands on her shoulders. His hands slipped down to her waist and she swiveled in his arms, smiling up at him. "Sleep well?" He asked.

"Mmm-huh. You?"

"Mmm," he replied, dipping his head to kiss her. "Somehow waking up is even better though."

She arched an eyebrow at him playfully. "Really?"

He nodded and then made her shriek by picking her up and carrying her into the shower. The hot water hit both of them, drenching them, though neither noticed it too much as they renewed their previous night's exploration of each other's bodies.

Jordan ended up being late to Garret's morning meeting, but his stern gaze didn't faze her one bit.

XXXXX

Jordan juggled the case files she'd taken home as she strode down the hallway to her office.

"Give you a hand, luv?" Nigel offered. He grinned at her. "Or a hair dryer?"

"Nige!"

He followed her into her office. "Come on, Jordan, you can tell Uncle Nigel why you were late and your hair's still wet."

She glared at him. "When am I ever on time to meetings?"

"Well, there is that," the Brit conceded. "And your hair?"

She shrugged. "What about it? I - I didn't have time to dry it."

Nigel grinned at her. "Or to make sure the buttons on your blouse matched up?"

Jordan glanced down, her face going nearly as red as her top. "They're just fine!"

"And yet you checked." Nigel clearly wasn't buying her innocent act. "So, things are steadily improving with Woodrow?"

Deciding that he might stop if she ignored this line of questioning, she shifted gears. "I figured out the Model Killer's M.O."

That got Nigel's attention. "Yeah?"

"Yep."

"Well?"

She took out her notes as Nigel came around the desk to read over her shoulder. He scanned what she'd written, whistling when he came to the end. "By God, Jordan, it makes perfect sense… well, totally bizarre sense, but you know what I mean."

"Nige, this has got to be it. The M.O.'s all fit!"

"Did you by any chance figure out the connection they all share?"

She glowered at him. "No. But we're closer." She looked at him. "We're going to find this lunatic before September."

XXXXX

"Hey, Jordan, I was about to go get some lunch. Wanna come?" Lily looked so hopeful that Jordan couldn't decline. It was the twenty-ninth – they had two more days before the clock started ticking for the Calendar Girl Killer's next victim, but Jordan had to admit that, besides Lily's obvious need to talk about something, she herself needed a break. The two had just left the morgue when Jordan's cell rang. She answered it, listened for a moment and then clapped the phone shut. She touched Lily's arm. "Sorry, I've got to go."

"But-"

"That was Woody." Jordan's eyes glowed. "He found the connection between all the Calendar Girl victims."

END Part Twelve


	13. Prints and Plans

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**A/N: Sorry it's been a while. New computer (yay), working overtime (not so yay), deleting half a long fic (somewhat yuck), second bout of pneumonia in three months (yuck)… I promise the next part won't take so long.**

**Part Thirteen: Prints and Plans**

_August 29, 2006_

Woody looked up when Jordan more or less threw open his office door. Without a word he held up the evidence of the connection. Jordan took it from him and began flipping through the pages he'd handed her. When she got to September, she looked at him. "Have you-"

"Her parents are coming in shortly. Her birthday – sixteenth – is on the twelfth. We'll keep her safe."

Jordan sat down, murmuring a heartfelt, "Thank God."

"Did you see…?"

She nodded, letting her gaze go back to the calendar Woody have given her. All the victims were there – all the "representative" of the month in which they'd been killed.

"It was done for charity," Woody explained. "On a tight budget, I guess."

"Which explains the variety of models?"

"Yeah."

"How'd you get it?"

"I called the sister of the July vic. The identical twin? She was out of town, got my message this morning. When she called back, I asked if she'd ever done any work for a calendar. She told me about this and offered to bring it down when I told her it might help us track the killer." Woody settled back in his chair, daring Jordan to criticize him, even in play.

"So, what's the connection? Photographer? Agent?" Jordan shook her head. "You ruled those out, right?"

"Yeah. I re-checked everything – two of the victims had the same agent and two more went through the same agency, but not the same person. At least seven different photographers took these photos. They were all submitted to the guy in charge of putting it together and – I called him – he didn't meet each of the models." He leaned forward. "But the connection is there, somewhere. I'm gonna get it, Jordan."

She flipped back to January and studied the picture. The female impersonator looked quite dazzling – and believable – in a silver sequined cocktail dress. Jordan's own wardrobe may have largely consisted of casual clothes, but it didn't mean she couldn't be impressed by such clothing – and its accessories. The blue-tinted drop earrings caught the light and brought out the blue in the model's eyes.

Jordan moved on to February, again admiring the way the woman (this time) was turned out. The clothing was more casual – pink jeans and a soft pink sweater. From the upswept hair to the unobtrusive make-up to the glittering cherry quartz earrings, everything went so well.

The M.E. looked up.

"What?" Woody had been watching her, telling himself he could see the wheels in her brain turning, but, in reality, just admiring the view.

"Just a minute." She turned to March and scanned the photo. April. May. June. All the way through the rest of the year. She stood up and brought the calendar around to him. Pointing to "Miss" January's earrings, she said, "Those are handmade, I think."

"Why?"

"Well, it's kind of the thing right now – a lot of people seem to be into it." Jordan waved an impatient hand. "I went shopping with Lily one weekend – she kind of likes this stuff. It's – I don't know – different? Personalized? Something. Anyway, that's not the point – look at the other pictures."

Woody flipped through the calendar as Jordan had done. He paid attention to the earrings in each, slowly realizing she might have something. "I'll call the sister of the July vic again."

Jordan's phone rang. She scowled as she listened to Garret's voice. "Okay. Yeah." She looked at Woody. "Bus crash. I've got to get back." She sighed. "I'll probably end up pulling a double, if not more."

Woody grimaced at her. "Want me to bring you some dinner later?"

"Hmm… I could take a dinner break." She smiled at him, the look sly and sexy. "Or I could _call_ it a dinner break at least."

Woody flicked up his eyebrows. "I think I like the sound of that."

"You think?" She laughed.

"Okay," he grinned. "I know I like the sound of that."

Woody walked Jordan to the door. Before letting her leave, he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her, deeply and thoroughly. His hands found her hair and buried themselves in its deep waves. She moaned softly into his kiss, pulling him tightly against her until her back rested against his office door. He pressed against her, his mind far diverted from any case, focused only on the warm, pliant feel of Jordan in his arms, her body molded to his. His hands slipped down, along her arms to grip her waist. Only when he felt her tug at his shirt did he come crashing back to the reality of where they were. And the fact they were both still on the clock. "Jo, Jo," he panted. "We can't. Not right now."

She looked up at him, her eyes glazed, her mouth soft and moist from their kisses. Slowly, she nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

He groaned. "I can't believe I just said that to you."

Jordan chuckled. "Yeah, Farm Boy, pretty unbelievable." She straightened his tie. "At least one thing hasn't changed."

"What's that?"

"This tie is awful," she replied with a grin.

XXXXX

Woody found Jordan in trace when he arrived with dinner. Nigel looked up. "I hope you brought enough to share."

For a moment, Woody discomfiture was obvious and then he caught the exchanged wink between Jordan and the analyst. He relaxed, letting a wide grin split his face. "Sorry, Nige. I'm not sharing."

The Brit feigned a disappointed look before waving Jordan off to her office for her "meal." The way he waggled his eyebrows over the last word made even Jordan blush. The blush didn't stop her from her slipping into Woody's willing arms the moment her door was closed – and locked. For several minutes, they let their mutual hunger for each other override any other concerns. He dropped light, teasing kisses on her mouth, drawing away when she intensified the pressure. His tongue darted in and out of her mouth, sampling her with a frustrating delicacy. Only when her arms snaked around the nape of his neck and her hands pulled his mouth firmly to hers, did he give in. Grunts, groans and the almost inaudible sounds of clothing being shed paved their way to the couch. They sunk down together, hands roaming freely, breath coming in gasps. Jordan straddled him, working his belt buckle when his phone rang. They both made sounds of frustration and disgust, but Woody motioned that he had to answer it.

Despite the fact that the conversation was quick, Jordan stood up, her limbs shaking with desire. She considered the absolute lack of professionalism she and Woody had nearly engaged in. Tired, almost hostile, spur of the moment sex in the dead of night with no one else around was one thing; almost planned, on her couch, with a good number of day staff still here was another.

"Thanks." Woody flipped shut his phone. He sighed. "Sorry about that."

She shook her head. "It's okay. Probably better anyway."

He shrugged. "Yeah." He stood up and went to her. "I guess," he murmured into her hair.

She laughed a bit. "So what did you bring me?"

"Besides myself?"

She thumped him. "Come on, what'd you bring?"

He pacified her by bringing out Italian take-out. The fact he said nothing about the phone call put up her antennae, but the rush of the afternoon had left her hungry, so she let it slide for a few minutes.

When the food had dulled the edge of her hunger, she put down the plastic fork and watched him eat. She said nothing until he glanced up at her. He looked down at his shirt, guessing he had sauce on it or his tie. He found nothing. He checked the corner of her desk to make sure he hadn't dripped anything there. Nothing. Finally he raised his eyes back to hers. "What?"

"Nothing."

Woody checked his shirt again – just in case. He peered closely at his tie. After all, Jordan might think a little marinara was an improvement. "Come on, Jo. What?"

"Just wondering."

"I kind of got that. About what?"

"That – uh – disruption earlier. You haven't said anything."

He shrugged. "Just a lead that didn't pan out."

She hunched forward, sliding her food to the side. "A lead on the Calendar Girl case?"

He stammered his denial, then colored faintly at her look of utter disbelief. "All right. Yeah. But it didn't pan out, so forget about it."

"How can I forget about it? You haven't told me anything."

"And I'd like to keep it that way, Jordan."

"Why?"

He gave her an exasperated look. "Because I know you. You'll think you can find out something the Boston Police Department couldn't and – knowing you – you just might."

"And that's bad how, Woody?"

"Because after that, Jordan, you'd probably decide you could also catch this killer better than we can."

Her expression grew sulky, but she had to admit he had a point. "I promise. I won't do that."

He arched his brows. "Yeah. Sure."

"Hey! I keep my promises."

"I know you do." He sighed. "It's just that you usually find a loophole I never thought of." His strong blue gaze met hers. He gave another sigh. "All right. Fine." His voice resigned, he told her what the sister of the July vic had known. Yes, her jewelry had been specially designed for her outfit. No, the model had never met the designer before the photo shoot. Yes, it did seem a little odd for the woman to come to the shoot, but she was _so_ nice, _so_ interested in the model, _so_ thoughtful. Yes, the designer sold her work to the public – on consignment at several local stores. Of course, she had the designer's name. Why did Woody need it?

"Well?" Jordan's eyes were wide in anticipation.

"The name was a fake. And – And-" he held up a hand to forestall her inevitable question. "We got a description. I had it circulated to all the kinds of stores that sell this stuff. No luck. That was what that phone call was."

Jordan's mouth pulled down into a frown. "What about pictures of the jewelry?"

Woody shook his head. "They weren't unique enough." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I did talk to one store owner who said a lot of these jewelry people put some symbol or something on their work – like a brand, sort of."

"A brand?"

"Yeah, you know. Some little something that attaches to part of the – the thing."

She smiled at his lack of familiarity with the subject. "Like a charm."

"Yeah!"

"Hmm…."

They returned to their meals, finishing in relative silence. As Woody was throwing the trash away, Jordan thought of something else. "Woody? Do you know if the models were given the pieces?"

His eyes widened. "Hold that thought." He had out his cell phone and called the precinct. "Yeah. This is Hoyt. I need you to get a witness for me and patch it through to my phone. Great. Thanks." He tapped his toe while waiting. "Hello? Hello? Hi, Miss Martin. Yeah, hi, it _is_ Detective Hoyt." Jordan could hear the squawk of the girls' voice. Un-huh. Well, I do have one more question." More squawking. "Um, Miss Martin, the jewelry you wore – yeah, that jewelry – were you allowed to keep it?" Woody smiled. Briefly. "Oh. Oh, I see. I'm sorry to hear that."

Jordan was scrawling something on a piece of paper. She thrust it at Woody.

"Um, Miss Martin, I'm sorry, I know this is difficult, but can you tell me anything about the jewelry. Did it have anything – unique about it? Something personal from the designer maybe?" He listened again. "Okay. Thanks. Sorry to trouble you." He slapped his phone shut and looked at Jordan. "Well, it seems her sister borrowed the pieces the night of the – the murder. Cassie was wearing the earrings and the necklace. You didn't find…?"

The M.E. grimaced. "We found melted bits of silver and – and what looked like melted crystal. What about a charm or something?"

"She said there was one, but she can't remember what it was. It was on the necklace."

"Woody, there are four more women out there-"

"I know that, Jordan."

She ignored his interruption. "And four more necklaces."

He stopped. "And four more necklaces." Then his face fell again. "But we're still likely to have a fake name and appearance."

"But – it's a long shot – but we might be able to pull a print from one of them and then hope it's in a database. Or if you had the charm, symbol, whatever, you could show that around."

His speculative look gained strength, became more hopeful. "I'd better make some calls."

"Yeah?"

He stood up. "Yep. I've got four necklaces to get." He moved toward the door. "If I can get them tonight…?"

She smiled. "We can give it a try. I'll ask Nige to stay."

XXXXX

It was close to midnight by the time Woody made it back to the morgue. Jordan was napping and Nigel was playing away at when Woody burst into Jordan's office. She jumped up, startled awake. He gripped four plastic evidence bags. She was instantly alert. "Let's go."

Nigel looked up as they came through the door of Trace together. He rubbed his hands together. "I presume, children, that you've brought me presents."

Woody gave the Brit the bags. "Yes, Nigel, there is a Santa Clause."

"All right – pick a bag, any bag," Nigel offered.

"Start with October," Woody suggested.

"Any particular reason?"

The detective smiled. "Miss October hated her jewelry. She wore it at the shoot and tossed it into a drawer when she was done. And guess who fastened the clasp?"

Nigel dusted the necklace with powder. He examined it. "Well, the good news is there is a print. The bad news is it's very little of a print. Don't know how much I can do with it, but I'll give it a shot."

"Come on, Nige. This is our chance to get ahead of the killer," Jordan reminded him.

"Yeah, well, with as little as I have here, this is going to take some time." He looked at the two of them. "Why don't you go get some… coffee or something."

XXXXX

Shooed out of Trace by Nigel, Jordan paced in her office while Woody watched her. On what was her last pass by his place on the couch, he snaked out and arm and grasped her hand, halting her momentum forcefully, bringing her tumbling against him. "I can think of better ways to work off that energy, Jo."

"Woody," she purred. "Not here."

"Jordan!"

She dipped her head and pressed her palms against his chest. "I know, I know, but it was a good thing your phone rang earlier. The first time was – unintentional."

He nuzzled her ear. "We can pretend…."

"Nigel could walk in any minute."

"He said it would take a while."

"Probably," Jordan argued. "It could probably take a while."

"As I recall, that door does lock."

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I'm serious, Woody."

"So am I," he murmured, kissing the crown of her head. "Very, very serious, Jordan. Maybe more serious than I've ever been about anything."

She raised her head and looked into his eyes. "We're not talking about sex anymore, are we?"

He shrugged. "We _could_ be." He reached up and traced her cheekbone with his knuckles. "Or we could be talking – more."

She took a deep breath. A very deep breath. "You mean… like…." She gave a small toss of her head. "Like…?"

"Like you and me, together, Jordan. For better, for worse. Sickness and health. Richer and poorer and, I gotta warn you, on our salaries, it's not gonna be the first one…." He planted another light kiss, this one on her forehead. "Til death do us part, which I plan on being a long, long, _long _time away, Jo."

"Guys, guys, I've got something!" Nigel's voice carried well down the hall.

Jordan stood up, tugging Woody with her. He stopped her, his hands at her waist. "Say something, Jordan. Anything."

She turned and faced him, her eyes lifted to his. "Picket fence? Dog? Two-point-three kids?"

He smiled at her. "I've never figured out how you can have two point three kids."

She shrugged and bit her lip. "We'll have to see if we can work on that one." Her door opened. "After Nigel shows us what he found out."

"Come on, come on! I can't believe we got a hit, but we did… come on!"

As they entered Trace, Nigel waved toward the computer screen with a flourish. "May I present Amanda Holloway? Owner of our fingerprint and – unless I'm really wrong here – someone who looks a lot like all our vics – or the way all our vics ended up looking."

The M.E. and the Detective leaned in. Woody whistled. "Now we're getting somewhere."

Jordan stared at the picture. "Amanda Holloway? Why does that name sound familiar?"

"Because, luv, she was once one of Boston's up and coming models."

"Was?" chorused Jordan and Garret.

Nigel clicked one key and the screen changed. Now it showed an article detailing a horrific car crash that had left Amanda Holloway disfigured. The Brit looked up. "Well?"

"That was five years ago," Jordan pointed out.

"And no one's seen her since."

"Except our calendar girls," Woody stated.

"Yeah," Jordan agreed glumly. "Except our calendar girls."

END Part Thirteen


	14. Certainty

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**A/N: Thanks for the feedback, especially Rin22. Your kind words keep me rolling.**

**Part Fourteen: Certainty**

_August 30, 2006_

Woody was nodding. "Thanks. Yeah. Okay."

Jordan and Nigel gave him expectant looks as he hung up. "Amanda Holloway died ten months ago."

"What?" Nigel was aghast. Jordan could only sigh with exhaustion and irritation.

"That was her brother. She moved to Maine after the accident. Ten months ago, she killed herself."

"Not to sound too – um – ghoulish, but he's sure?" Jordan did manage to look apologetic.

"Yeah. He id'd the body." Woody closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. "Another dead end. The print was only a partial."

"It can't be!" Jordan's eyes burned with fervor. "It's too coincidental that her print – partial or not – was pulled off of that necklace. And look at her. All of our vics looked like her or were made to look like her."

"Jordan-"

"Woody, Amanda Holloway is involved in this in some way!"

"How, Jo? How? She was dead before these crimes started? And why? Why would she do it?" He held his own temper in check, but barely.

The M.E. smoldered. "I don't know why – anger? Jealousy? Resentment that these models still had what she lost? I _don't_ know. But maybe she faked her death."

"Her brother-"

"Could be lying!"

"Jordan," he pled with her. "It was a good thought. It didn't work out. Let it go."

She glared at him.

He crossed to her and put his hands on her arms. "Let it go for tonight."

"Woody's right, Jordan," Nigel concurred. "We're all exhausted. We'll keep at the necklaces tomorrow. We'll find something. This – This was a coincidence."

Slowly, ruefully, Jordan nodded in agreement.

XXXXX

Woody drove Jordan home, neither of them speaking much. He walked her up to her door and turned to leave. "Where are you going?"

He looked at her. "I thought – I mean after…. You didn't want to let it go."

She leaned against her door. "When do I ever want to let something go, Woody?" She reached out and took hold of his tie. "We're both going to have to leave some things at work. Or your earlier prediction will be true."

He gave her a quizzical look.

She grinned. "We'd kill each other within a week. Remember?"

He nodded, smiling softly. "I didn't mean it, you know."

"Yeah?"

He nodded, bringing his mouth to hers. "There was a lot I didn't mean, Jo."

She pushed the door open, slipping away from his lips as she backed into her apartment. He had no choice but to follow her as she maintained her grip on his neckwear. "What did you mean?" she murmured, her voice husky and edged with a slight anxiety.

He wrapped her in his arms and laid his mouth against her ear. "Everything I said earlier."

She looked up, searching his face, struggling to rein in the thudding of her heart, to quell the small voice in her brain that still screamed at her to run.

He saw what she tried to keep out of her eyes. He raised one hand to her face and stroked her cheek. "Did you mean it?"

Slowly, unable to trust her vocal cords, which felt taut enough to snap, she nodded.

"Really?"

She swallowed and silenced the voice for once and all. "Really."

Wordlessly, Woody lifted her into his arms and took her to bed, leaving all matters of work well behind them for the night.

XXXXX

Jordan spent her lunch hour the next day researching Amanda Holloway. The young woman had been, as Nigel had said, one of Boston's up and coming models six or seven years ago. She had been the toast of the party circuit, courted by men with more money than sense, pampered and promoted until one rainy evening in April. The photographer she'd been with had been driving intoxicated and too fast on the way back from a concert in Foxboro. There'd been almost no skid marks before the hot little sports car without air bags ended its career wrapped around a tree. The photographer had walked away – and into a jail cell for a few months. Amanda Holloway had walked away – after almost a year of therapy and numerous reconstructive surgeries. Being nearly roasted alive in the ruins of that little car had ended _her_ career. No longer toasted, courted or promoted, she had been closely guarded by her brother and mother. By the time she had left Boston, her fleeting fame was little more than a footnote, and her death had merited only a three sentence obituary.

Jordan sighed and leaned back, staring at a printout of the Holloway family in happier times. She looked up as Lily tapped on the door and then came in with a file. "Sorry to interrupt, Garret needs you to sign these."

Dr. Cavanaugh sighed. "It's okay. I'm not any closer to an answer on this Calendar Girl thing than I was an hour ago."

Lily brought the files around. She glanced down at the picture. She bent closer. "Hmm."

"Hmm?"

"Oh, I guess I just never realized Amanda Holloway was Jeanette Holloway's daughter."

Jordan's eyebrows shot up. "The mother? You know her?"

"Well," Lily hemmed and hawed, blushing slightly. "I wouldn't say I _know_ her exactly. But I know her work. And I love it. It's all so – so – I don't know – just – cool."

"What sort of work is that, Lily?" Had Jordan been a bloodhound, her nose would have twitched.

Lily shrugged. "She's a jewelry designer."

"She's a – what?"

"Jewelry designer. Oh! And she does a lot of charity work with the burn unit at UMass."

"Thanks." Jordan was nodding as Lily left. The moment the door was closed, she picked up the phone. "Detective Hoyt, please," she said when the precinct switchboard operator came on.

"Hey, Jo. Want to grab some lunch?"

"Not exactly." Her voice was urgent. "Woody, the calendar? It was for charity right?"

He picked up on her tone and settled into business. "Yeah. Why?"

"What charity?"

"Jordan-"

"What charity?"

"Hold on." He sighed at her impatience, but at the same time he knew it was one of the things he loved about her. "Uhhh… let's see… okay, in tiny little print that I could probably read under one of your microscopes…."

"I'll get you a magnifying glass for your birthday, Sherlock. What does it say?"

"Okay… all proceeds go to the burn unit at-" She finished it with him. "-UMass."

He stopped. "Good guess?"

Smiling on her end of the phone, she said, "No. I know who our killer is."

END Part Fourteen


	15. Mommy Dearest

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

Sorry this took a while - combo of real life crud to deal with and the fact that wouldn't let me upload it for a couple days!

**Part Fifteen: Mommy Dearest**

_August 31, 2006_

Jordan watched the interrogation through the one-way mirror. Jeanette Holloway had, according to Woody, been very calm when they came for her. He'd taken one look at the place and called her, trying to circumvent CSU, preferring Jordan's and Nigel's methods. The place was bloody, in shambles, its walls like a rusted Jackson Pollack painting – only the pigment was hemoglobin. A fain smell lingered in the air as well. Corruption of a body, sweet, gagging in the nostrils.

Jordan found the body - that of an apparent transient whoit would later turn out had witnessed one of her frimes -quickly and headed back to the morgue to run preliminary tests. Nigel remained behind, collecting what amounted to cartloads of evidence. Now Woody was trying to get the woman to say anything, Her calm had become something like catatonia. Jordan tapped on the window. Woody excused himself.

He came out of the interrogation room, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "I don't know what to make of her. Aside from the obvious fact, her daughter's death didn't do much for her mental stability."

Jordan handed him a small book, wrapped in an evidence bag. "You're assuming she had any to start with."

He glanced down at the item she proffered. "What's this?"

"Jeannette Holloway's diary – of Amanda's life."

"She was obsessed with her own daughter?"

Jordan nodded. "Every success Amanda had validated something in her mother. She pushed and pushed Amanda into the lifestyle that eventually led to her car accident and disfigurement. Then she kept telling Amanda that it would all be okay, the doctors would fix her – those exact words, apparently. She was furious when Amanda moved to Maine and even worse when the girl committed suicide. The mother felt the daughter let her down, that the daughter was weak."

Woody cocked his head. "Okay, but why start killing these models?"

"These models – all of them were used on that calendar. The calendar was-"

"Jeannette Holloway's idea."

"Yeah. It was going to be sold for charity, but more than that, it was going to mark Amanda's triumphant return to the world of high fashion and beauty."

"Only Amanda didn't play along." Woody was following Jordan easily now. "But the project had been given the green light so other models were chosen."

"That's about it," Jordan confirmed.

The detective stared through the glass for a moment. "Let's see what she says now." He went back into the interrogation room, giving Ms. Holloway a cool, dispassionate gaze. "It's really tragic about your daughter, Ms. Holloway."

The woman, an aging blond who spent more time on a treadmill than on a therapist's couch and looked it, her eyes anxiety-filled orbs that never settled on anything to look at for more than a few seconds, her body taut and thin, too many bones too clearly highlighted through her skin, snorted. "You never knew my daughter."

"No." Woody kept his tone even." But I have lost people very close to me."

"People you loved? People you sacrificed all your own talents, all your own dreams for? People who turned around and threw those sacrifices in your face, who claimed you ruined their lives?" She waited for Woody to shake his head. "Then you don't know much about it."

"Why don't you tell me?"

She rolled her eyes, seeming to dismiss the detective as an imbecile. Then, with frightening quickness, her features contorted and she leaned across the table, her voice a rasp against Woody's ears and those of his observers. "That calendar was to be Amanda's return to the top! She would have shown the world how beautiful she was once again, would have been loved and adored once again."

"You would have had all those things again?" Woody's voice was neutral, but to the point.

The killer shrugged. "Incidental. But – But how sharper than a serpent's tooth is an ungrateful child – that's _King Lear_, you know?" She flicked up her eyebrows. Woody nodded, trepidation about a conviction creeping in. "Well, I know what that old monarch felt. Amanda _informed_ me from that – that shack up in Maine that she wasn't coming back, that she'd not been seeing the specialists that she didn't ever want to return to that world. Well, I'll tell you, I wasn't having it! I told her I was still her mother and she would still listen and her brother would be up to fetch her." She paused, gulping from the glass of water at her elbow. "And do you know what that ungrateful child did? Do you know, Detective?"

His tongue thick with loathing, he replied, "She took her own life."

Ms. Holloway's fist pounded on the table. "Exactly! To spite me! She was always trying little things like that." She shook her head. "Well, that wasn't going to work, was it? So I let the project go ahead. I even offered to provide the accessories. I became friends with each of those so-called models – not a one who held a candle to my Amanda. I let them think the honor of being chosen was theirs, not some cast-off from a much more accomplished model. I thought it might be all right, but, you see, Detective, none of them were grateful either. In every last one of those girls – and the one other – I could see those flashes of ingratitude. They had become _Amanda_ and I simply couldn't let that go. They could never really be her and I could not allow her to believe she had won."

Woody was silent as Jeannette Holloway swallowed the last of the water. He was trying to think of something relevant to ask her, all the while feeling pretty certain that this one wouldn't go to court. If the diary Jordan had found showed premeditation it would go against an insanity plea; if not, well, the woman was not exactly rowing with both oars in the water. In fact, Woody that she may have lost the oars all together a while back. A question did strike him. "One more thing, Ms. Holloway."

She gave him a look of bland agreement.

"None of these models ever made the connection between you and your daughter?"

She giggled. It sent chills to Woody's toes via express mail. "I used the name of my jewelry line – the line I created especially for this project. And of course, I befriended them, took them under my wing, much as I always had with my own Amanda. In the end, it made them quite easy to approach." She made a small frown. "There were those two innocent bystanders – I never realized the Martin girl had a twin – sad that. And the woman who came up me disposing of young Audra. If only I could have avoided killing her, but it couldn't be helped."

Woody thought he might throw up, but he kept his mind on the fact that a bunch of people were about to get justice. Curiosity gave him one more query. "What was the name of our jewelry line?"

She smiled up at him, her mouth curved into a wicked grin. "Why, Madame De Farge, of course."

XXXXX

Walking down the hallway, Woody glanced over at Jordan. "Looney or sane enough to play it loony?"

"I hope that's not a personal question," Jordan shot back with a short-lived smile.

He chuckled. "It's not. Unless you're Jeannette Holloway."

"Thank you, no." The M.E. shook her head. "I know a thing or two about obsession, but wow. Still…." She shrugged. "I don't know. I do lean toward the second choice though."

"Why?" His face bore real surprise.

"Madame De Farge? A little creepy, don't you think?"

"Uhhh… I might if I knew who that was?"

Jordan stopped and eyed him. "She's the lady who sits and knits day after day by the guillotine, watching all those people go to their deaths. She just knits and knits, her stitches mean more to her than the lives of – of thousands."

"I really missed something there."

She smiled. "_A Tale of Two Cities_. Dickens?"

"Oh! Yeah, okay. We had a comic version of that when I was a kid."

Jordan smacked him on the shoulder. "Our kids are not reading comic versions of classic literature. My dad may have screwed up – pretty big sometimes – but one great thing he always did was make sure I read."

XXXXX

Jeannette Holloway never went to trial. She confessed to the crimes, copped a plea that kept her off of Death Row, and then her story – her fifteen minutes of fame as the Calendar Girl Killer – passed. She lived her own Death Row for about two months in prison before she was found lying in a pool of blood beneath a pine tree in the exercise yard. A large, gift wrap bow was stuck to her head. Maybe she was indeed the present 'neath someone's Christmas tree. No one really cared.

XXXXX

Shortly after catching Holloway, Jordan woke up one morning – a day off, she exulted – to a funny feeling on her left hand. Woody was in the shower as she looked down. And then up. And then around. Somehow, without waking her, he had scattered rose petals over the bed, placed vases of flowers around the room, catching the morning light to perfection and, most amazing of all, he'd slipped onto her finger the friendship ring he'd once offered, she'd turned down and then regretted it for… well, until now. She got up and, wearing nothing but the diamond studded ring, joined him in the shower.

They lay on damp sheets, twined in each other's arms, Woody playing with the ring on Jordan's finger. "Do you really like it?"

She nodded and cupped his face to kiss him. "It's perfect. I thought it looked especially good this morning." Her eyes sparkled with happy mischievousness.

Woody agreed, but admonished, "I do hope you won't show it off quite like that to anyone else."

She pretended to consider it. "All right," she agreed at last. "I'll quit my part time job at the Meow-Meow Club." She sighed theatrically. "I was going to anyway."

He nuzzled her ear. "Glad to hear it, Doc." Then he pulled away. "Any particular reason?"

She shrugged. "Probably because I love you."

"Yeah?"

She nodded in reply, running one finger along his chest, toward his navel. He groaned. "And probably because they'd have fired me anyway."

"Hard to believe," he gasped, enjoying the flirtatious little game. Then again, there wasn't much about Jordan he didn't enjoy.

"She murmured into his ear. "Well, you know, I hear it's tough to do a pole dance when you're pregnant."

"I'm sure it – What?" He pulled back. "What? Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"You owe me a house in the suburbs, Farm Boy." She paused. "And a dog. After all, I'm working on the two-point-five kids." She saw panic flare in his eyes. "One at a time," she assured him.

Woody began to babble enthusiastically about the nursery they would put together until Jordan began to murmur seductively about her plans for their bedroom. They decided to see how well those plans might work.

END


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